


Quarternity

by calisonne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, Apocalypse, Implied/Referenced Sex, Multi, Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV Multiple, Science Fiction, Time Travel, hi this is a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calisonne/pseuds/calisonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>time=t, the universe burns. 452 years before, earth is in disarray - 687 years, the mighty become the fallen; yet 1000 years before, all is innocent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. T (I), The Healer

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to point out any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors or anything that niggles you; rip this thing apart if you want - all constructive criticism is good for me!

**Time = T, The Healer**

The sky was alight, an orb of bright light screaming not with words but with the grand store of its energy as it died; a temporary light, too bright for untrained eyes, in the eternal darkness; it was so bright it burnt – but they were already burning, flames licking the sides of the battered and broken shelters, testing the flavour before consummation.   
These flames and the flames in the sky were not the same, but the same had brought them. The former star had been the warning beacon, but even given an eternity to prepare, the destruction would have come. Destruction came for them all, this one had welcomed the devastation, but it had not taken them – yet it wasn't disappointed. Perhaps it was a faint hope, the hope that could only be foolishness, that kept them alive, had it tending to the ones who were not quite corpses; people who it had saved so it could see them burn again. The sight was old, older than this one was. It had never seen the stars for what they had been, or seen anything but this settlement, brought down to ashes just to be rebuilt, a community that did their best to keep producing the children to carry on the blood. They all had the hope; the hope of a fool was contagious, and each one of them had attached themselves to the belief that one day it would end, but this one knew that it had already ended – destruction was simply taking its time, dwindling away at the resources they had that could not possibly support them for eternity. More power and they could play with the stars again, but the power they had could only support regression.  
Humans had not been among the higher powers for as long as the hydrasi, but they had adapted faster to the conditions forced upon them by this new age of the universe – if word was to be believed. Word was the way the old cultures had been conserved in some basic format, although many had broken away from that; the universe had demanded so much change that some standards were impossible to keep.  
Yet, it had been the hydrasi way that had leaned upon the human way – so much so that it was almost identical – and this one was a victim of that; so much so that the hydrasi elder, who refused to let death take them, had turned it away when it had sought them out, claiming that the way it wore the soft seaweed that sprouted from its head like humans wore hair made him out to be something he was not. They studied it through narrowed dual pairs of eyes, calling the way it cared for another to be the way of the earthians too. It was shameful, and this made it no true hydrasi in their eyes. In its own act of rebellion, another human trait, it had grown the white mass on its head longer, not that much longer, but long enough for the white attachment to fall the way human hair did, and thus hindering the movement of his neck collar. It did not serve any use, not in this age. It was only a nuisance to this one when it fell in a way that put pressure on its facial fins, which without it would be unable to hear the roaring of the fires.  
It was not fires it was looking for. Perched upon a collapsed mound of a former living space, still warm underfoot, it observed the area for anyone who looked to have escaped from the grasp of death, if they wanted to be saved. It was usually the children that this one preserved, for the sake of the ones who brought them into the world, and then the heroes who believed life was salvageable. The rest took the gift of death with smiles, the only regrets being the loved ones they were leaving behind; but it would only be a short while before those loved ones joined them.   
Interaction was only a distraction.   
This one could admit to that, but it did not know where the ones it enjoyed interacting with were – they would come and go, entertaining it until they accepted the end of their existence, and this one continued on, vowing to heal until the gift was offered to it, too. It was the best it could do, and maybe it would live long enough for the broken fragments of what was to be slowly pieced back together. It would live longer than the one it always returned to and valued the most, that was for certain.  
It let itself slide down from its height to the battered earth below, bag of medical supplies bouncing heavily against its leg. The landing was practised, and it stood with ease, welcomed by a burnt corpse which the fire had abandoned after cooking the body to a crisp. It did not care to investigate the identity of this newly deceased – it was just another civilian casualty, but a glance was enough to tell it that this person had once had a neck collar, which narrowed it down enough; no doubt a register would be made of the survivors and the dead deduced from that, but that was not this one's job, or a job this one cared for. It did not have time for the dead.   
The corpses marked its path to the living, which for what it could see was a single human woman grasping hold of the place one of her arms should have been, half of her body coated in thick scarlet liquid. When it reached her, she turned it away with a forceful bark that was enough of a warning against it offering her simply something for the pain, leaving her to become another corpse and itself to walk aimlessly among the ruins until it found someone who thought they still had some use alive. Perhaps it would find itself back at the little place it called its own, where it would stay until the next round, whatever came first; if it did not find them soon, the injured would be dead, or alive enough to find their healer.  
It was not walking for long; as it turned away from the heat of the flames, it spotted a group of humans, very much alive, carrying what used to be a man towards the flames, where a mother stood with a knife ready to carve up a feast; her child stood clinging to her leg, tears streaming down his face and mingling with the blood that was leaking from the location of a former ear. It stopped to clean the wound and dress it, and the mother offered a bowl of salad in exchange, grateful for its services and knowing of the hydrasi preference of being herbivores. Some forgot that, and although they were capable of digesting meat, their stomach was not made for it. But food was food, and this time it was lucky to be given the substances it desired, so it expressed its gratitude for the meal the woman provided it with before packing up its supplies.  
It ate its meal as it continued his patrol, although most of those that may have been worth saving had crossed the line that made them a pointless investment of its talents – the child had not been the most cooperative of its patients and it had taken this one more time than it had planned for it to repair a wound that was not its definition of life threatening. Nonetheless it had earned itself a meal, enough to sustain it for a few days if it conserved its energy the same way it conserved its medicine, but ideally it would eat again before it needed to – it had never been anything over underweight, but it did not want to dance with death in this way, it sounded too long, too painful. This one would rather die in fire, like the fire that engulfed the main section of the compound ahead, a towering, domineering structure that wasted too much of the precious materials they did not have in abundance – but as a result it had not yet taken much more of a pounding than several dents in the time this one had been here. It was so inviting, so safe, but to reach it this one would have to walk through the fire – the elder hydrasi lived there. Oh, how this one despised them. Not that it had to put up with them seeing as the door was sealed; when a new hydrasi was born they came out, and granted, this one was present too as making sure a newly born hydrasi after bursting from their egg sac was healthy fell within its duties, but the elder always waited for it to take its leave. This one was offensive, after all.   
As for the building, going in was an even greater offence, with a punishment this one considered to be hypocritical. Yet, this one's smaller pair of eyes could see the heat of a figure between the flames, hammering at the door.  
"Back away from the door!" This one found itself shouting; although its voice was loud it did not adopt a tone of aggression. It quickened its pace to deal with the rule-breaker itself rather than having what stood for the authorities putting this hydrasi to death – a hydrasi this one knew from only the back of a head, and a hydrasi that was slipping slowly towards the ground, legs giving way under the body it supported. With the abandonment of the almost empty salad bowl, it was there in time to catch the hydrasi it knew as Quetas'Tir.  
"Cii'Tone," Quetas'Tir breathed out, "my eye, Cii'Tone, is my eye gone?" At first, Cii'Tone, for that was this one's name, hesitated to respond, one hand firmly clinging on the front of Quetas'Tir's tattered clothing garments and the other supporting his back. Quetas'Tir was a male by his own choice – the only thing the hydrasi elder did not condemn was to name oneself a gender. Cii'Tone was a hydrasi, but it did not feel the need for a gender – some hydrasi thought gender made them equal, but it did not.  
Through its hands, it could sense the accelerated rate of the other hydrasi's breathing which was making no effort to slow itself even now safety had been confirmed. Slowly, it let go of Quetas'Tir's clothes and moved its gaze up to his face, greeted with a splattering of blood. The larger left eye was non-existent. His facial expression was enough to betray that information as it ran a finger through some of the pooling blood, which was met by Quetas'Tir grasping hold of its arm with such strength of a grip that suggested Cii'Tone had caused him pain.  
"Can you fix me? You can fix me. Favour for favour." The voice was much weaker, energy forced into his hold rather than his voice, which Cii'Tone could tell was also slipping, a sign that the other hydrasi was descending into a sleep, but sleep, after all, was not a death.  
"Why are you here?" Cii'Tone demanded, its hand still very much aware of the heartbeat below. "You cannot open a portal, the power needed to wake one..."  
"This settlement...for the universe," Quetas'Tir managed, the words difficult for his mouth to form. Cii'Tone had no response but to look him in the other large functional eye, which blinked heavily at it, confident that his own logic was sound. But Cii'Tone was a healer, a simple healer; Quetas'Tir had no role, but a fixation on becoming some kind of hero. He had the belief that the contents of the currently indestructible building were the answer to reshaping what life had formed itself into – the last hope, but it was not a fact that the portals the hydrasi elder guarded would work, the portals could bring about the end of all, and even if the life they had was only shattered remains, it was life. This one had told Quetas'Tir multiple times that they did not know how the portals would deal with the time shift on top of the space shift as they had never been tested, 'which was for a reason _'_ , the hydrasi elder had apparently said on one occasion – Quetas'Tir did not tell the others about the portals though, even he knew that if word got out, there would be no calming the storm that swept up that possible last chance and destroyed it in the madness. For the power, humans had always liked power, even under rule, and the hydrasi elder, a firm believer in letting fate play itself out, would let none near it, provided they got inside. Cii'Tone did not know how this was possible without violence, which was something that it wouldn't be capable of, nor should he be, even if it was an outlier of its species, and this one was not eager to see that wrinkled crone again – if it could call them a crone, since it was a feminine term, which Cii'Tone was sure they would have been if she had chosen to identify, but it would force gender on none, for this one had given no gender to itself.  
Quetas'Tir wanted to dance with fire. The now three-eyed hydrasi's hand fell from Cii'Tone's arm, head lolling to one side.  
"Can I have some help here please?!" It called out as loudly as its lungs would allow, moving the hand from the back up to Quetas'Tir's head to support it while it waited for assistance to arrive; the sleeping hydrasi was half an inch taller than it, for while Quetas'Tir was the average, and almost only, height for a hydrasi, Cii'Tone was unusually small – though even if it had been this one laying here unconscious, Quetas'Tir would have also been unable to carry the body due to the weak muscle strength of hydrasi that gave even a human child a superiority to them in strength. On a last moment impulse, it did his best to move the unconscious form away from the door of the forbidden building, not only to remove the evidence that he was trying to get in – a little hard considering the bloody stain upon the door, though this one could make an excuse for that, but also to avoid the fire that was spreading closer still, a dying fire, but a thief of heat, none the less. This one's own body was aching for the vital water that kept its grey skin from cracking, but that would wait – it had gone longer. From the state of Quetas'Tir's skin, he needed to bathe too.  
"Got him." The sound almost startled it, and Cii'Tone could feel its neck collar reacting in the puffed up motion that came naturally when spooked; but it knew the voice, not quite able to name the face, but the voice belonged to the young boy that had a talent for sneaking. "Your place is fine, I think, I can take him there for you?"  
"Please do." Cii'Tone nodded, standing up as this boy whom Cii'Tone still could not find a name for scooped Quetas'Tir up from his arms and began to walk, leading a way for Cii'Tone to follow, even though this one knew the way.   
The human boy was not thickly built nor tall, but moved with ease while carrying the unconscious hydrasi across the small distance of the settlement to Cii'Tone's rather large and unstable metal hut, of which the entrance was partially twisted and curved inwards, but it still served its use. Cii'Tone watched the floor for most of the journey, moving quickly on its short stumpy legs to keep up, brow knitted as it tried to assign the boy a name. This one knew this boy for a reason, but it could not pin that reason, except for the fact he knew Quetas'Tir more than well. It took him longer than was probably socially acceptable to slot that piece into place – this was a boy this one remembered being spiteful of, but now, it would have to be courteous.   
When they reached Cii'Tone's living area, the journey completed in silence, the boy invited himself inside and lay Quetas'Tir down upon the blankets, hesitating to be dismissed. At least he had some respect about him, not making himself comfortable in a place he was not welcome.  
"I care too." The boy announced as Cii'Tone settled itself down, rifling through its medical bag for the sealer, which was apparently low on power. Its sigh was audible as it pressed it against the power outlet.   
"Thank you, now please leave." Cii'Tone replied, the answer leaving its tongue more sharply than it intended it to, although the boy – his name was Harley, this one finally recalled – made no physical reaction to it besides making his exit. Leaving the sealer to charge, Cii'Tone pressed a damp cloth against Quetas'Tir's eye to stop the flow of blood, taking care not to inflict any more damage before it took the sealer from the charge, guessing despite the slow rate of energy transfer, it would have enough to patch up the damage. Carefully, it brought the tool to Quetas'Tir's face, directing the beam of heat energy so it attached enough blood vessels together for this one to close up the eye completely, confirming the loss of an eye but preventing any further health issues. It was a delicate business, and Cii'Tone had to use both of its arms, pausing occasionally to push the fin strands from his elbows from Quetas'Tir's face, to keep his pathway on course.   
When it was almost done, a younger boy than the other one, or at least much shorter, crawled into the hut and sat down beside it, choosing to rest his head on Cii'Tone's arm - which was, if anything, an inconvenience.  
"Mam got the death," The child squeaked, voice high-toned and unbroken, "brobro said that mean she gone."  
"She has, sorry." Cii'Tone tried its best to offer sympathies, gently nudging the child away to finish the repair of Quetas'Tir's skin. The child obediently moved, but remained close.  
"What did it used to look like, the sky?" The child put forwards another question, sounding somewhat eager to learn for one that had just lost his mother. Cii'Tone set his sealer aside, unravelling a length of bandage.  
"I do not know." That was the truth of it, he was still young. The young had only seen the end of the war.  
"But hydrasi live for four hundred years, brobro said." The child insisted. It was true that Cii'Tone was probably older than his mother had been, but it was only at an eighth of his typical lifespan. The war had started three hundred years ago, and ended twenty years previous.  
"I'm not that old." Cii'Tone shook its head, adding in a small smile to cushion the blow, "but I heard it was very beautiful."  
"Can it be beautiful again?" The child asked. Oh, what an innocent question. Cii'Tone almost laughed, but contained itself, for all children were innocent, until they grew up enough to understand; this one had to think carefully about how to phrase his reply.  
"Time changes and beauty changes, so we must change to understand a new beauty, and this is your beauty," it began to wrap the bandage around Quetas'Tir's head, to protect the weak spot while the body did its own healing. The other hydrasi was breathing via his facial and neck gills in a relaxed fashion now, sounding much more peaceful than he ever was awake. It was almost nice. "And it may change for you in your life, and you should change your beauty to how it is then."  
"But you said it was beautiful then. That does not mean beautiful now." The child pointed out the flaw in Cii'Tone's argument. Smart, for one so young.  
"The truth of it is, child, it is gone. We cannot change the fact that it is gone, because it has gone. Gone like your mother." It knotted the bandage into place, careful not to pull the folds too tight to restrict the blood flow. The child placed his hand, a cold hand, on its arm.  
"Why can we not change it? Why not?" He questioned, cocking his head to one side as Cii'Tone turned to look at him. He was dark-haired and dark-skinned, perhaps five years old at most. This one knew this child's mother, for she had come to him once begging to know if hydrasi and humans could make children together; Cii'Tone had laughed at her. Then she had done her best to avoid this one, but in a relatively small place like this, that was hard. It would not miss her, and the child, it had delivered this child into this life, did not seem to find her absence disturbing either – he had cried last year when his father died, Cii'Tone recalled. They grow up fast around here.  
"The past is the past for a reason." Cii'Tone answered softly, leaning over to pat the little boy on the head and ruffle his hair; the human children seemed to like that, especially with long hydrasi fingers, Cii'Tone did not know why, and it did not need to know why, only that it worked. Sure enough the child smiled for a moment before returning to his line of questioning.  
"But the past is all bad. Bad things can be changed to good things, can't they?" The child could not know about the time portals; Cii'Tone guessed that his questions were based on lack of understanding, as was understandable, but Cii'Tone did not feel like justifying its answers – this one was a healer, nothing more, and the child was looking for trouble. No doubt he would grow into one of the hero types, do something stupid and then demand Cii'Tone to save his life just for him to try again in the next year, it knew the type. It let out a sigh.  
"The past is the past because it has been and cannot change." It gave his answer, rather short in the tone it chose, "you should not ask too many questions – or, or the hydrasi elder will get you, they don't like it when people talk about changing things, so they'll come for you, in the night, and then you'll never grow up to be a hero."  
"I don't want to be a hero! I want to be a healer, like you!" The child exclaimed, standing up and stomping one foot so hard that Cii'Tone could almost feel the structure shake.  
"Well healers don't ask questions, they just heal. They are the best healers, like me," Cii'Tone returned. The boy shook his head quickly.  
"You can't be the best healer, you only heal people." The small boy pouted, folding his arms across his chest.  
"What else am I supposed to heal?" Cii'Tone frowned.  
"There!" The child pointed to the outside.  
"You...you want me to heal the universe?" Cii'Tone was unable to suppress a snort. The little boy took it to heart, and burst into spontaneous tears, turning on his heels and rushing out of the little hut to some other location in the settlement. Cii'Tone did not go after him, it had his peace now, which is what this one wanted, even if it wasn't achieved in the way it had planned, but it could make amends for that later, when the child was old enough to understand, which would not be today, or tomorrow.  
This one felt like he could sleep that long, and the blankets looked warm. First, it pulled of its boots, the only thing it wore besides a loose garment to cover the parts that earthians did not usually want to see, but while the garment kept this one warm – some of its fins were trapped beneath it yes, but it was not painful – the boots were only uncomfortable to sleep in. Hauling itself to his feet, it pulled the door to its hut shut, which was nothing but a piece of wood with several holes in it and only attached by one hinge, but it was enough to serve as a warning that this one did not want to be disturbed, before it pulled its cover blanket down from the hook on the wall, pulling it over its shoulders for a moment as it looked down at the sleeping form of Quetas'Tir. He looked so peaceful sleeping, wherever he was, for he did not have his own place to rest his head. He would make his own way around the settlement with what had been an occasional stop here, and then he would leave with a smile, a sweet smile, telling him to wait a while – the hydrasi way; now Quetas'Tir was not here of his own choice, but it was no personal violation to sleep besides another.   
There was no other place for Cii'Tone to sleep, so it had little choice but to curl up next to the other hydrasi, taking care to set the blanket so that it covered them both. The choice this one did have was if it draped his arm over the other hydrasi's body, first tracing the five freckles on the wounded side of his face and then dropping its arm down to remain still against his chest, or if it rested keeping its own body parts to itself; Cii'Tone did more than the former. It hugged Quetas'Tir tightly, feeling not only the warmth of the other but the rise and fall of his chest – and his heartbeat – the only comfort this one had.

 

 


	2. T-687 (I), The Softheart

**Time = T-687 years, The Softheart**

It was the best feeling in the world, waking by the side of ones lover; to feel the soft stomach flesh against her own combined with the cool chill from the hard skin scales was enough to spark a warm feeling inside of her – that had not changed in all the years they had been together. It was the sound of an upset child that woke her, eyes immediately drowning in the blackness of the room, information that become a knowledge to her brain that the day was young – she did not need to look at the time piece to know that the dull darkness upon the room was caused by the lack of sunlight; to untangle oneself from the gentle touch of the limbs was an almost torture, but the crying of the children was the greater evil.  
She pulled herself out from beneath the sheets and away from her colasi, sleepily guided to her wailing infant on six legs through the narrow dimly lit corridors, unwilling to utter to words that would fill her path with light. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the dim night settings, day settings would be bright enough to temporarily blind her, something she deemed far from the same value as a few seconds less in darkness – her reptilian eyes were faster than those of the mammalian and amphibian servants.  
The crying, she could identify that it was the little one, Ymira, just from the tone, and when she arrived in the room her child resided, she found that the human, Tasha, as she recalled, assigned to the care of Ymira and likely to stay as her servant as the child grew older, hugging the infant against her and rubbing her hand across her back, careful not to damage her delicate hand on the sharp backbone. Ymira would not settle for the servant. Ymira only settled for her cosparent. The mother's touch, the humans called it, and they also called her a mother; humans were simple things, plain of face and defined by only two genders – by their rules, her children would call her and the other one who had created her 'mother', and that, none disagreed, would be an inconvenience. She rose to her full height, supporting herself on her back two limbs as she continued forwards to collect her offspring – when the servant girl saw her approaching, she froze, and it occurred to her then that she had neglected to put on one of her fabrics in her drowsy state.  
"Cai Satcha!" The girl started.  
"Never seen a naked body before, child?" Satcha replied softly, scooping her child away from the human servant, automatically tracing the scales developing around the backbone with her three fingers, content to find them firming; of course even at the age of a full earth year. Ymira was not guaranteed to live long enough to experience a decent childhood. Perhaps she should not have named the child, like other parents did, so it would not hurt as much if the plague took hold on her child in the early years; the fact that she could count on one hand the softened scale patches she had, and they had only developed in recent years was not enough to confirm her children would have the same fate, and neither did the excess of patches Ryla, her colasi, suffered – she had seven on her neck and back alone, Satcha had counted them several times while she had been sleeping. She liked to run her pointed fingers over them, pretending her touch could regenerate the damage and ease the pain, and Ryla would respond to that with one of her little smiles, and then would pull her in, and the world would fall away. Soon they would make another child again, and that, that was on only feeling more wonderful than being abed with Ryla. It was even worth the early starts and the sleepless nights, all for what she was cradling in her arms.  
"I have not, Cai." Tasha shook her head, "besides my own, Cai," she added quickly, tongue tripping over the words. She moved her hands up to adjust the mask that she wore to conceal her face, this time only using the title of the one she served and omitting her name.  
"You do not have a mate yet?" Satcha asked, Ymira growing quiet to her touch and nestling her head against her cosparent's fleshy underbelly. Of course, seeing an icoscaite naked was different to seeing human without clothes, for the anatomy of both species was quite different – for one, the female humans, like Tasha, had round orbs on their chests that served a purpose for their young, which seemed to be very helpless at birth. Ymira was much more capable than a human child, born in a protective coat that allowed her to grow for weeks before she was truly born, ready to feed on food rather than suckling a white liquid from these nutrient orbs. This was a reason reptiles were superior.  
"I have a girlfriend, Cai. We have not..." The servant trailed off, "...yet."  
"You can tell her you saw me unclothed, if you wish. A rare privilege. She may desire you more then," Satcha returned, "you may leave now." The young girl scuttled away as soon as she was given permission, no doubt embarrassed and flushing red under that mask. Humans did that, she had noticed in the chances she had caught them mask-less. It was not the first time she had forgotten to clothe herself in front of a servant either – the little hydrasi whom attended her three-year old had been more than aroused at the sight, its mask did not disguise that.  
Left alone to resettle Ymira, which she did not mind, she craned her head downwards to admire the young cockily. Ymira was an easy child, and considering she had already drifted off the sleep against her, easy to settle. Ymira was small for her age, small enough to be a socias, but the already sprouting horns gave away that she was a one of the more common genders – the female genders. Both of her children were coskyli, like she was.  
It would not be impossible to produce a socias child, but she would more likely lose a child than gain a socias – the odds had been higher once – it was the plague that took the children. She found Ymira's cot and lay the sleeping infant down inside, carefully replacing the blankets. No doubt she would awake again in a few short hours, but the servant, Tasha, would not leave the area until her shift was over, that was assured, and then she would be replaced by another, but that would not be soon; the time piece projected on a wall told her it was just over half way through the seventh hour of the twenty-four that made up an earth day, and in the season the humans called 'winter' the sun would not be banished from the sky for much longer, so there was no point in attempting to induce herself back into the dream state. She could climb into bed to simply lie besides Ryla, but the action may disturb her mate – it would be more beneficial for her to dress now.  
She took the route back to her own quarters in the little fort, not bothering to summoning the lights, for Ryla's sake and for her eyes were adjusted enough to identify her own clothes storage, and pulled out one of her fabrics, a silver one with white trimmings and swirls – the swirls were of earth design, but in landing on this planet, the icoscaites had assimilated the human culture, and taking what was good would only perfect what already existed. She donned the fabric it with ease. There was no need for a servant to do that, nor to clean herself or preen the fin that ran from the top of her head to the top of her back; being coskyli, she had a longer fin length than the other genders, something that did not define itself until the body was almost matured, by then, she had her curves. Her last action, always her final action when preparing herself each morning, was to polish her horns and the bone of her face, holding the bottle with her right middle hand as she rubbed each of the areas with her three other limbs. It was this polish that made them shine, a show of her power. With her status firmly on display, she slipped out of the room.  
"Lights." She ordered as she re-entered the corridor, finally illuminating the pale walls around her as she crossed down to the flight of three steps that dropped down to the main chamber, which was bright enough without lights for all the windows that lined the walls.  
Two figures were visible there, a masked human boy – or at least she assumed it was a human boy from the back of his head, and a smaller icoscaite figure, tail lashing out in an emotion that could only be anger. Satcha did not need to get any closer to understand her elder child, Rysila, three earth years and clear to have a temper much like her other parent, had been crawling about in the lower fort in the building deterioration in her attempts to escape out to explore alone; Satcha had briefed the servants to scold her if they caught her, but seeing as she was here, she may as well get the last word – Rysila was an icoscaite after all, and icoscaites did not take orders from servants.  
"Where was she this time?" Satcha opened her part in the conversation. The human boy, definitely a boy now she was up close, but she could not put a name to his face – or rather what she could see of it, not that it was important. He had noticed her approach and had straightened himself up from his previous position of leaning over to speak to the smaller individual, but now faced with one taller than himself he was forced to stand to his full height; Satcha was taller than most of the servants when stood on back legs. Most icoscaite were, rarely falling below what humans labelled six feet, even the socias.  
"West said, Cai." The boy replied instantly, "playing with the broken tiles. I have informed her that doing so is dangerous."  
"Scales on hands mean stronger!" The small coskyli protested, waving her scaled hands in the air. Rysila was standing on her back legs also, but was nowhere near the height of her cosparent or the servant who had caught her. It would be another few earth years before she began to grow rapidly in height.  
"And if I made a fire, would you play in that?" Satcha tested her, "you would take longer to burn than a human, but you would still burn." Rysila's mouth opened, but no words came out. She closed it again promptly with a frown. Satcha smiled and dropped down to six legs to become closer to her child's height, placing one of her hands on her shoulders, "stay out of bother and I'll take you to the fire pits when my duties are completed." That brought a smile to her offspring's face.  
"Oh I will, I will!" Rysila exclaimed, bouncing up and down on the soles of her feet. Satcha leaned forwards and planted a light kiss on her forehead, careful not to unbalance herself, before letting her hand drop from Rysila's shoulders.  
"Now run along dear." She had no objections to that, taking her cosparent's words very literally as she broke into a run, dropping her body to more limbs to gain access to more speed, across the hallway and down another corridor. Satcha let her vanish before she stood, aware she was smiling all the while.  
The servant had not left her side, and was hovering in a sense that suggested he had information to pass on; Satcha preferred it when her information was passed to her from the mouth of another and not a notification from one of the wall mounted panels – it had not been unheard of for the information to be extracted by others who found ways to break the encryption layers that bound the information in the forts, and despite the fact a servant could easily use their mouth to pass along information to others, she had always felt it was easier to place her trust in the servants that had placed in her fort. Betray a word and Ryla would not hesitate to have them killed where they stood – fear was enough to remind the people that icoscaite gossip was worth lives. She straightened out her fabric, "what is it?"  
"There has been a claim that a servant has assaulted a person." He replied slowly, as if it was a physical effort to get the words out, and those words being very vague.  
"Assaulted whom?" Satcha pressed, summoning the boy to walk by her side as she slowly took a walk across the room from the high seats to the furthest window along the right wall. She had a strange liking for that window.  
"Officer Duck- Ducads." The servant let his tongue slip into what she assumed was a nickname, but the boy managed to correct himself fast enough for Satcha to let it slide. Other may have scolded the boy, but she had often been nicknamed the softheart.  
"A servant assaulted Officer Ducads." Satcha summarised. The servant boy nodded.  
"A hydrasi servant, Cai." He put in. Satcha could understand the uncertain tone he used. The hydrasi were amphibians, a peaceful race, seeing violence as a solution for nothing, which was why they made such good servants, most perfectly happy to live a humble life serving. Some were more ambitious, but some had to be, otherwise the species would have never made it this far – but violence was not their way. Hydrasi had evolved to flee rather than stand their ground – the tales said the waters of hydrasi were teeming with predators; violence involving them was only ever attacks upon them. She frowned.  
"What more can you tell me?" She questioned, "is it possible there has been a mistake?"  
"The officer came to me with a shard of glass wedged between her face and her bone ridge. I could see blood." The human boy replied as they stopped by a window. Satcha peered out, wondering what could have caused a hydrasi to attack – the provocation would have to be severe.  
"Did she say anything about how the incident occurred?" Satcha let the elbows of her primary arms rest on the ledge of the window. The sun was peaking on the horizon, partly blocked by the towering buildings that began to cast their shadows out across the open space that divided her little fort from the rest of the world. A natural river ran there, and the shadows were distorted by the soft ripples on the surface. The sky was not cloudless, but almost masked in white. Perhaps it would snow. The children would like that.  
"She said her servant has been absent a lot. She made a joke about...the terrorist groups and then she was attacked." The boy returned, his gaze too turning to the sky. Humans here, the younger ones, did like the snow. Perhaps she would dismiss him to allow him to play in it for a few hours it came. A small kindness.  
"She believes her servant is a terrorist?" Satcha put forwards another question. One of the possible answers to this question would instantly end it. Terrorists were condemned to death, by law.  
"Yes." The boy nodded. She let her shoulders sink. They did not seem to learn.  
"Put out an announcement and set up a visual feed for this room. The servant will be brought here before the high chairs." Satcha straightened herself up, "stream the feed as soon as I return with the Cal." She turned to walk away. Cal was the title Ryla had, since she had been bonded into Ryla's family rather than the other way round. Ryla had been the only child to survive her parents’ reproductive years, so it was only logical that Satcha become a Cai for the security fort opposed to the Cal for the food fort. She had a sibling for that.  
"Wait, Cai!" The boy called after her. Satcha halted. She cast a glance over her shoulder to see that the boy was clearly hesitating, "perhaps you should do the honour, Cai? Some of the servants, they name you, a name..." she knew what they boy was referring to, "...and I know that it is supposed to mock you. Perhaps..." He trailed off as she turned around to face him. It occurred to her now that this servant must be the new boy that Ryla had mentioned promoting. She studied him in silence.  
"Tell my servant to fetch me my weapon." She decided, offering her words slowly.  
"Yes Cai." The boy nodded. Satcha could tell that even with him wearing a mask, the boy was smiling. She would ask him for his name later, but now she left him to the console he summoned from the wall to carry out the commands she had issued while she crossed the room once more, this time in the direction of the high chairs; she was in no rush to reach them. In truth, Satcha had never taken a life before, and hadn't imagined that she would have to, seeing that she served only as second in ranks with Ryla being the power. Yet, she could have easily have been a Cal herself and an executioner of as many as Ryla had – the first was the hardest, Ryla had told her once, but it should not be hard. It was true, if Satcha knew her history as well a she boasted, the years on earth had softened the former race of conquerors. Hundreds of years ago, she would not think before she ended the life of another, but in those times, she would not have been a softheart; she would have been like all, a conqueror with an iron fist, claiming new worlds for herself and building civilisations from the ashes of destruction. It would be a lie to say she had not dreamed of that wonder; a wonder that the plague had robbed her of.  
She reached the high chair and sat herself down on it, curling her tail across her lap as she placed her two sets of arms on the tiered rests, inspecting it while she waited, discovering one soft scale that had previously passed unnoticed before her focus was interrupted by the petite Greek human girl she knew as Acacia Dimitriou placing a gun on her lap. She bowed and backed away as Satcha acknowledged her, taking her place as servant to the one in the high chair below.  
Moving her tail aside, she collected up the weapon with her right hand, the smooth grey metal cool to her scales. Rounded and sleek, the gun was as pretty as it was deadly, which was the reason Satcha favoured it above all the other weaponry available. Of course, this one was custom-made to her grip, and had only been fired at targets. She raised it to her eye line, aiming it as more figures came into focus – Officer Ducads and two servants escorting the accused. She lowered the weapon and let them approach, Ducads choosing to throw down the hydrasi servant, stripped of its mask but still wearing the servant coat and long tassels that signified its race as hydrasi – not that it wasn't obvious. Humans, like the two that had long let go of their fellow servant and moved aside to allow her full view of the accused, wore fur upon their backs, which Satcha thought looked nicer; nicer than the bloodied tassels on the floor.  
"You stand accused of conspiring against the icoscaite rule." Satcha pushed herself up from the chair, making herself taller. She noted that the colasi was wearing a smile, "do you have anything to say?"  
"Down...with the icoscaites." The hydrasi pushed themselves up from the floor, a smile twisting on its face. It was an odd time to think it, but Satcha was curious if this one had a gender label. Most of them defined themselves as male, and it was quite rare to find one that remained gender neutral, yet anatomical gender they did not have, "down with you. You...have it all coming." The words were wrong. Satcha wondered if she was still sleeping. She often had strange dreams.  
"We protected you. We brought you to this planet to protect you longer. We give you a more than fair life." Satcha started, struggling to keep her voice monotone. Despite the strong feeling of disbelief, she found that she was infuriated, inhaling deeply, she exploded as she exhaled, "what gives you the right?! All we do and you have the nerve to turn on us because you want more power?! What more can we give you than the whole planet, which may I must remind you, we saved from the brink of destruction, and alone, you would do just that! Hydrasi or human, you have no understanding of how to govern yourselves!" Nobody spoke to her like that.  
"This planet belongs to the humans!" The hydrasi spat, neck collar rising as a natural defence mechanism. Not that it would do them much good.  
"And you will go against everything you believe in to get the small group of selfish and greedy humans what they want!?" Satcha could feel her tail beginning to twitch, a visible sign for all if the tone of her voice did not make it obvious of her anger.  
"Someone has to speak out!" The hydrasi exclaimed. Satcha could picture Ryla throwing back her head in laughter.  
"Speak out you say!?" She retorted, "speaking is with the mouth! Speaking is not assault! Speaking is not anything to do with anything physical! As a hydrasi you should understand the principles of speaking and asking for what you want instead of trying to get it by force! You are clearly missing some brain cells because you should be very much aware of how much leniency we have given the human race and how much help we have given them to develop compared to how we used to rule! Hydrasi never had a problem with how we used to rule, or you should have joined the rebellion that brought us here! Hydrasi and humans have been given words without icoscaite populations to rule themselves and this is the kind of response you return to us with?! You are not mature enough to lead this planet if you cannot understand the difference between speaking and violence!" She finished, hands balling into fists, the grip on the gun ever tightening.  
Ducads began to clap; she took that as a signal that she had said enough, and took the step down onto the floor, standing level with where the hydrasi was half curled on the floor. She raised the gun once more and pointed it at its head, to its credit, they did not flinch.  
She lowered her voice, "speak now. If you had escaped this, what would you have done next? Killed?"  
"Perhaps I would have...ended the lives of your children."  
The gun went off, blasting a hole through the hydrasi's skull, leaving brains splattered on the floor and a large hole to see that floor through; the heat energy in the bullet was burning away at the rims of the impact, but even as the corpse slumped, the weapon decorated it in more holes, so many holes that the lifeless form was almost unidentifiable among the wisps of smoke that was rising from the burning flesh. She wished that the first had not been enough to kill, nor the second of the third.  
She wished that he had been able to feel every heat bullet hit him; she had wished he screamed until she had stopped. But all she received was the stench of burning flesh.  
"It made that easy for you." Ducads remarked, emphasising the first word, signalling to the two servants to move in and collect the body, which they did, ever so gracefully. The small size of hydrasi did make their job much easier. She turned her attention to Ducads and stared for a moment. The colasi was too happy.  
"Get out." She ordered sharply. For a moment, the colasi's face was completely blank, but then she seemed to understand, and turned quickly to leave, marching out on her back legs alone, and the two servants following at her heels. It was only when the three of them, four if the hydrasi corpse was counted, was gone from her sight that she left the gun fall from her grasp, clattering against the floor for a moment before Acacia, it might not have been Acacia, but it was more likely her than the boy, collected it.  
"Stream was successful, Cai." The boy reported. His voice was distinctly originated from the other side of the hall. Satcha acknowledged him with a nod.  
"I want my children. Fetch me my children." She turned to Acacia desperately. The girl nodded and left, taking the weapon with her. She hoped the servant would replace it before she brought the children, although it did not really matter, for they would be trained within years to hold their own weapons and fire them - Ymira was too young to understand, but Rysila knew what the function of a gun was.  
Ymira and Rysila would be fine, she attempted to comfort herself, she had seen them both recently, and they had been fine; there was no possible way for that hydrasi – or anyone else undetected could have gained access to her children, which was a lie if she considered that any of the servants within the fort could have turned into a terrorist, but she must not think of that. There were only a few of them, a small select group of people who whenever they emerged were easily crushed like the foul little insects known as ants were easily flattened by her boots; she had to think that her children were fine. She held her emotions in, slumping backwards into the high chair. She could not let it show. She was not a softheart, but an icoscaite with an iron fist. She could conquer worlds and rebuild them from the ashes, if she wanted.  
Yet children had been the trigger, enough to make her tremble. She would have been a taker of life as much as a maker of life no matter what the hydrasi had said, although there had may have been more length about it, more chance of making the servant regret their choices, but the single thought of her children laying lifeless and bloody had been enough to bring her finger against the trigger, not once, not twice, but multiple times, and although before she had been doubtful of her abilities to execute another form of life, in cold blood, as the humans called it, without hesitation, now she did not have a single doubt.  
She would burn the whole universe for the sake of her children.

 

 


	3. T-1000 (I), The Socialite

**Time = T-1000 years, The Socialite**

Peeling off her mask, she dipped her hands into a cool bowl of water that she had prepared. The sensation was a pleasure to her skin, so she plunged her face into the liquid, letting the substance she was designed for rush over her face and nourish her.

Summer had never been kind to her, the gruelling heat of Amroursa stole the water from her flesh, moistening her uniform and mask with it as that water trickled away from her to find a new host in the ground; he had to take more time out to spend in the water, lessening her chances of furthering her career, but it was worth every minute, the dripping sweat and the tight mask was just the price she had to pay for the life she lived – and serving, despite those two downsides, was a pleasure. She loved to serve, for whilst it was partially routine, most of the tasks she gained in a day were unexpected, yet nothing so challenging, and that was all there was to it, no great plan, no manipulation, no power play; some were suspicious of that, but that was the humans, the new faces who knew little about the cultures of their new companions. It was true that she gained the perk of knowing more of the higher class than most, though as all, she was sworn to secrecy, not that she had many secrets, as she was only served the bottom of the top, collecting and delivering and passing along messages for the paranoid icoscaites – she had many masters, perhaps this made her service more enjoyable than most.

She brought her face free, pushing her hand through her mop of powdery blue dyed hair, which a greater percentage than was not was rougher in appearance, although still soft to the touch, and littered with lumps – humans referred to the older hydrasi as having dreadlocks, though she herself would have compared it more to the substance that grew in the earth oceans known as seaweed, just not as slime riddled. Nothing had changed in her hair for weeks, she observed, but the change was a process that took a hundred or so earth years from the moment puberty was achieved, and she herself had not noticed for perhaps fifteen of those years; that did not bother her, for hydrasi did not treat the concept of ageing the way humans did, and even born in the waters of this world, the way her brain was wired was with her traditions of old, hatching and swimming in the vast water for a length of time she could not have counted before braving the land.

She still needed that water now – she could see the liquid dripping from her face in the little mirror hung above the bowl in her chambers, which was located in the servants barracks that she held her lodgings; water not as perfect as the sea, purified for the others, that she had put her face into, but it counteracted the sweat that drained her. She would fully immerse herself in the water later, when she had to serve again, but for now, a brief refreshment would do along with stripping herself from her tight fitting uniform and freeing her trapped fins, hanging it up on the little hanger to clean itself fresh for her use when tomorrow's sun took to the sky.

The night was hers.

A few moments of that time she wasted unclothed, taking the ink she used to dye her hair and decorating herself wherever her fingers fell; she found herself tracing down her side and partially across her back until her fingers bumped against her back fin, with nowhere for her to continue her temporary art, she took her fingers away from her flesh and admired her work. The pattern created was something that reminded her of the waves of Hydrasi, and although she had never seen her home planet herself, she did know the oceans from the pictures and the tales, which was all the remained; home was here now. 

In this home, they had to wear clothes. Hydrasi themselves did not have clothes, only the others they assimilated from other cultures when they had become part of the first empire, too long ago for her to have known. She was a child of the second empire, one of the first – clothes were part of who she was. And she was one for a fondness of human waistcoats – a loose white shirt would be the bottom layer, and the dark blue waistcoat, the one several shades darker than her hair would be perfect, with the dark bottoms and her boots. Human fashions had not changed drastically in her years, but that was to be expected with all the changes being the sudden addition of technology and humans spending most of their time adapting to the new quality of life. That, and she did was not an expert on fashion, although it would be a lie if she denied that she was not interested – clothes fascinated her, and perhaps, one day, she would become that expert, if she had time when she was not occupying herself her first and second desires. Time was something she had plenty of, for she still had two human lifespans to live before her own health began to limit her.

She placed her pot of ink down by the water bowl, letting the water trickle away down the hole, gurgling at her as it made its escape. The sink was a human appliance, she was very much aware, and the mirror, which she studied herself in now. She had three dark freckles on each side of her face, which made her a Myr, with perfectly aligned facial fins that lacked any of the common deformities  - meaning that each of the separate strands were all equal in length. She was the hydrasi version of a perfect face, and she would willingly admit that she often caught herself studying her own face in admiration. That did not seem to be a crime. He face defined her social encounters as much more fulfilling than most. She counted it as her secondary fuel, ahead of nutrients and behind water, which without; she doubted she would gain any social interaction whatsoever. She decided to use the last of the ink on her finger by colouring her freckles in.

Abandoning her room via the door that led out into the whitewashed corridor and then on into the night, she felt the warm night air instantly begin to draw away the moisture she had freshly applied. This was the reason why most hydrasi opted out of working near the centre line of the planet, but she had never minded a challenge, that, and less competition.

The cloak of stars were pretty tonight, wrapped in alight sprinkling of clouds that added another element of texture than a clear night did in its single colour, but she did not pay attention to it for long, eyes keen on searching for something with much higher value to her; her eyes were not suited to the dark, unless there was heat for her secondary pair to seek, but she had been here long enough to know the location to how she placed her feet during the brisk walk that led to what seemed nothing until the sensors detected her and automatically opened a ring illuminated in silver light.

In height, the ring was a single hand length from the ground, which then ascended upwards in a loop designed for much taller creatures than she was. Even though she was tall by hydrasi standards, managing to reach the proud height five feet, in human measuring systems of course, the top of the portal system ring was clear of her head by another full two feet at least, but that would not affect her journey; the first time she had stepped inside a portal, the sensation of a floating nothingness had been something to fear, and she recalled stumbling out of the other end feeling rather nauseated and disorientated, although that was a twisted memory, distorted by time – it may not have been her first, but it was the first one she could recall. She had been a child then, new to the land, which had been a child, like her; in an odd way, this world had been her friend, maturing as she did, learning as she did, and now understanding like she did. Now, she was a master of the portals, just as the humans had unlocked their own intelligence potential and was able to climb the tiers and assist the icoscaites more than the hydrasi ever could – but that was fine.

She stepped into the portal, letting it swallow her up and the odd feeling that she had grown to love wrap around her, dulling her senses and then sharpening them as she emerged back into the light, and then out. Out into the city, tall streamlined buildings towering over her as the ring of light collapsed in on itself and vanished. The stars here were mostly blocked by the towers that reached up into the sky, spread out in an orderly fashion that would have made the designer of this city, an icoscaite likely high up in Amrirsa, proud. Each city in Amroursa was different. She had no idea what it had to do with the landmass focus on the management of food and drink distribution, but it was another thing that she found fascinating. Amroursa was one of the landmasses that had mostly been rebuilt from scratch, seeing as it had been in an appalling state when the icoscaites had arrived. The icoscaite cities were much prettier than the human ones, in her opinion, spires, not block like rectangular towers that the humans seemed to have only the capability for. She could excuse the humans for their poor sense of architecture on their inexperience, and balance it with how pretty they were.

She smiled as she recognised her exact surroundings by the details of the buildings closest to her, scaled designed carved into the spire on her left that climbed up one side of the tower, which informed her that she had positioned herself much closer to her final destination than she had the last time she had been here, and although it was not the first time she had been successful on thinking clearly enough for the portal to interpret her thoughts well enough to place her on the doorstep of her favourite establishment, it was reassuring to know that she was more than capable of being accurate.

The door opened as she approached it, catching her reflection for a brief moment as the reflective plane slide past her to reveal the room within, alive with soft music set at a volume that was in no way offensive to her sensory organs. It was a modern human track, to which she had heard the lyrics before, and a song that made her smile. The man was singing about swimming like a hydrasi in some ocean she did not quite know due to the different names the humans often used, notably they called Amroursa 'South America', but even so the human singer seemed adamant to refer to her species as mermaids, which when she had looked up the human interpretation, she had laughed, pointing out that it was the icoscaites that had the tails, the hydrasi outgrew the tails they were born with. It was a nice gesture to the species though, and despite the fact that singing with sounds made from tools seemed to be exclusive to the child species on this planet of three, they clung to it to express themselves. She supposed when they had gained centuries of advancements in moments, dragging through certain aspects of their culture and certain traditions was what defined them as a species, and to re-enforce that argument, she knew that if the hydrasi had not done that when the icoscaites first took their planet in the first empire, she would be a very different person – if hydrasi had not kept their culture, the second empire would have never risen from the ashes of the first. The war had been powerful enough to rip several star systems apart, the tales said. But they were tales.

"Miss Latis'Myr!" An olive skinned face was looking at her from the bar, calling out her name, "the usual?" She nodded to her friend as she approached as her answer, to which he mirrored her nod and spun away from her, snatching up a bottle in each hand, one clear liquid and the other pink in appearance, and pouring both simultaneously into a smaller cup before pushing that glass towards her waiting fingers, very much aware that she had her own tradition of committing some of the alcohol to her body to set herself in the mood for the night. She did not need to drink at all, as she was able to take water in through her skin, but she liked the help her body with the heat by drinking, even if that substance was not water and made her feel slightly funny.

"You look alert," she commented as she put her drink back down. Her friend, Athos Dimitriou, was rather wide eyed, casting several glances over her shoulder. He had probably consumed several drinks of his own before she had arrived, and whilst not a lightweight in terms of the alcoholic substances he adored, it did not take many for him to lose himself, which probably wasn't the best of ideas considering he was supposed to be the one giving the drinks out to others.

"There's another hydrasi in the bar," he replied. Latis'Myr wasn't sure why she was surprised, but she was, twisting her own head round to spot the other member of her own species, which wasn't a difficult task considering the grey of his skin and his hair, which although naturally white hair was dyed, like hers, although his being blood orange made him impossible not to spot, even with the pair of human women leaning across the table that he was sat in such a fashion that hid most of his face. One of the women, Latis'Myr noted, was wearing a dress, one of the fashions that she herself could never see herself wearing despite identifying as female.

She had identified as female for her instincts that humans and icoscaites defined more as feminine, which often overlapped and left her wondering why both species found 'it' a derogatory term, and thus hydrasi began to label themselves, although a very significant chunk of her species chose to be male, quite possibly due the anatomical make-up that made them, as a species, appear to be more like most species' males rather than females and humans were not the only once with chest lumps – but those species were not talked about. They were never too far away to hear. This was the reason for her assumption this other hydrasi was male, which was something she felt that she should not do, a bad habit picked up on from the humans, but it was less of a crime to think than speak the wrong. She chided herself for it.

"Did you lure him here for me?" Latis'Myr turned her attention back to Athos. The Greek man raised an eyebrow. Athos too had come to Amroursa for the architecture, but hailed from Euasisi, a little place he called Greece that boasted some of the best sightings to admire human heritage – soon after they had become acquaintances she had marked it down on her mental list of places to visit, and he was always fond of reminding her that, which was probably why she put it off.

"For you?" Athos snorted, "he seems to already have himself sorted," he indicated to the two women that Latis'Myr swore had leaned even closer, "and besides, why would I help you make a mess of my toilet?"

"I would make a mess right here if you allowed it." Latis'Myr fired back. There was a grin on her lipless mouth as she went to take a long gulp of her drink.

"That wouldn't be fair on everyone else," Athos replied, shaking his head quickly before leaning across the bar towards her, "you recall how shocked the people were the first time you came here." Latis'Myr set down her glass, chuckling lightly. She remembered her first visit, offering herself to Athos, who despite making no objections on the night, although the bar had been empty when they were done, had made it very clear to her the next night that she would conduct her rituals in the bathroom.

"Humans really don't understand hydrasi mating culture." She brought up her drink once more to drain it, pushing the empty glass forwards for him to refill, "besides, it looks like one of us is going to make a mess of that toilet." Athos refilled her glass with a long drawn out sigh.

"Humans take mates for life, like icoscaites do, although granted, we dabble around for longer first than the lizards do," he set his gaze firmly on the red-headed hydrasi, "you people are the minority, our slight surprise whenever a hydrasi decides they want to mate is understandable."

"You still engage with us though," Latis'Myr shrugged, "and we wear clothes."

"In human history, some humans switched who they were with constantly like hydrasi do and they were considering by most of society to be frowned upon," Athos replied, taking out a glass from the underside of the bar and pouring himself a drink of pure clear alcohol, "even when the hydrasi first arrived there was some scorn, so in recent history really." He took a tentative sip.

"And I'm sure that's all changed now you've had time to settle in." Latis'Myr nudged her empty glass again, seeing as he hadn't yet refilled it. Athos side-eyed her.

"Something like that. Hydrasi are very sexually attractive. It is kind of a..." he paused to search for the word, "...a privilege to be part of a mating ritual. Your mating procedure is so much more sensual." He took the bottle with the clear liquid in his free hand and filled half of her glass before putting that down to retrieve the pink liquid to complete the drink. It would have been easier for him to do what he had done earlier and pour both in at once, but Athos seemed to have his own drink glued to his hand. Latis'Myr picked up the refiled glass to shake it and mix the contents together.

"You admit it then. You want to go make a mess of your own toilets, with h- it?" She caught herself on her pronoun, leaning forwards to give him a little nudge with her head, which was one of the hydrasi customs that humans seemed to understand. It was a sign of affection, affection as in platonic friendships, as it was rare for her species to develop a romantic attraction to another. Athos replied with a disproving look, although that, Latis'Myr decided, was for what came out of her mouth.

"I'm heterosexual," he put in. Latis'Myr looked at him blankly, "you know, I like the opposite gender to what I am."

"Hydrasi don't have gender. It, he, or she, looks just like I do." Latis'Myr pointed out. Human sexuality was foreign to her; after getting over the fact that they mostly mated for life and somehow did not get bored of the same partner, or partners, in the case of some, although that was mostly icoscaites, icoscaite sexuality was complicated enough, with literally next to nothing in terms of the same genders being together. Humans on the other hand, some of them liked the opposite gender, some of them liked the same gender, some liked both and then she was sure she knew someone who was not interested in sex at all. To her, it seemed stupid to label sexuality. If you wanted to mate for life, you liked who you liked and that was that, it wasn't something to flaunt.

"But is he is a he, which makes it a little bit complicated." Athos insisted. 

"You humans are seriously odd." Latis'Myr frowned, deciding to knock back the full glass of liquid before her in one go as she mentally complimented herself on guessing the chosen gender by a glance. She could just about make out Athos shrugging. As she set the glass down to rest, she noticed her friend had discarded of the glass he was formerly drinking from and had reached for two full bottles of his clear liquid – not large bottles, but she knew thy contained strong stuff, "that how much you're planning to drink tonight?" She questioned.

"Drinking competition." He flashed his dark eyebrows, pushing both of the bottles across to her before stepping back to clear himself some room to vault over the wooden surface. She had seen him do it before, only before he didn't knock her glass clear off the bar and shatter it against a wall. That gained him all the attention he wanted as he corrected his posture and reached back towards her to seize his two bottles, raising them into the air. This was typical of his behaviour, tipsy and often spontaneous, drinking competitions were something Athos held every now and then, and he was usually the victor. This time, Latis'Myr felt it was purely to change the topic of conversation. A cheer erupted from the tables as he continued, "who will take me on?!"

She noticed that he had already found his target before he had even asked the question, beginning to weave in and out the tables until he reached the one at which the red haired hydrasi sat.

"You, you're new around here, let us welcome you!" The hydrasi looked up at him for a moment, quite possibly somewhat amused by the tanned skinned man's white shirt and lopsided bow-tie as Latis'Myr had once been – it fashion was to be worn, it should be worn, and in this case, if Athos was not going to wear his bow-tie properly and leave the top button of his shirt open, he should not wear a bow-tie.

"I cannot say no." The hydrasi returned with a keen smile. The two ladies he had been conversing with shifted from their seats for Athos to make himself comfortable. Latis'Myr dropped herself from her stool and began to cross the room as the population of the bar began to shift to get a view, and being smaller than almost all of them, she had to move quickly to be able to see, although she found when she neared the table, bumping against at least one person and apologising, her rush had been for nothing as Athos summoned her forwards to stand behind his chair.

From here, she had a full view of the red haired hydrasi's face, identifying him as a Tir from the five freckles that marked his face. His hair was quite short, pushed back, and two of his facial fins were shorter than the others on one side, which was the most common of the imperfections. He was wearing a maroon jacket, with large holes that descended down his arms at the shoulders for his fins, and a split down the middle that clearly displayed his skin; Latis'Myr could make out a red smudge that was likely a decoration. The jacket itself was quite elaborate, decorated with golden scales around the areas that led to skin and at the bottom, which vanished under the table, and appeared to be of an icoscaite style. This one is high up, and was most definitely much younger than her, Latis'Myr realised.

He was looking up at her now as Athos handed one of the bottles to him, so she patted Athos on the back, leaning into his ear.

"Oh, he's a fancy one," She informed her friend, "if he beats you I may have to make a mess of the toilets." Athos craned his head to look at her.

"Thanks for the extra incentive," he stated, in almost monotone, and then promptly struggled to hold in a laugh. She had to look away to contain her own, "ready?" He directed at the other hydrasi.

"Wait," Latis'Myr, straight face maintained, turned her head back to the duo, holding up her hand, "it isn't very fair if you count in, Athos. Allow me." She looked between them both. Athos gave a slow nod, clutching at his bottles of liquid tightly – her friends olive knuckles turning white. She had no idea how this would turn out; two glasses of alcohol was beginning to affect her brain, there was no doubt about that from the tone of the voice that came out of her mouth, which was only marginally different, but enough for her precise sound sensory organs to detect – hydrasi alcohol tolerance was a lot less than it was for humans, seeing as the substance had not been known to them as long, so their bodies had not evolved to process it as well as humankind had. Athos though, was already on the edge of his own control, putting the match as a pretty even one, she lowered her hand, "three, ru, tone..." she realised her numbers had transformed into hydrasi ones, "go!"

Both of the bottle caps flew off as she uttered the word, the cap on Athos's bottle hurtling through the air and colliding with the facial fins of his competitor, who physically jumped and almost knocked over his bottle as he dropped the lid he had unscrewed onto the table, which bounced. With this little blunder, the hydrasi was behind Athos, who had the bottle firmly pressed against his lips, chugging down as much of the liquid as he could in each mouthful.

The five freckled hydrasi, in his credit, was quick to recover, lifting his own bottle above his head at a much more vertical angle to draw out the liquid, the effort straining his jaw as he fought to catch up; the crowd of humans began to clap at a rhythm, drowning out the music and one woman began to hammer against a table, creating some kind of building up drum roll that was loud enough for her to twist her facial fins away to protect them from the onslaught of sound.

Half way down his bottle, Athos spluttered and lowered his bottle, coughing for several precious moments before he continued, in which time the hydrasi only took one moment out to take a breath. In water, hydrasi would be unbeatable, for the gills on their necks would breathe while the air facial gills were occupied with liquid, but humans could not breathe underwater, which would have made it an impossible competition – she wouldn't put it past Athos to try it though; her friend was now downing the rest of the bottle, drops of the clear liquid trickling from the corners of his mouth as he made the additional effort to recover for lost time seeing as the hydrasi had taken the coughing spree to his own advantage and gone ahead, less liquid, by a fractional amount, visible in the bottle.

She held her breath, the tension behind her in the crowd heightening and the drum roll beginning to peak. Athos had gone tense, and Latis'Myr could tell that his body was practically screaming for air. The hydrasi took another breath, a long fat dribble rolling down his chin and dropping down onto his jacket, the patch of fabric darkening and spreading, but then his mouth was firmly around the nozzle of the bottle again, raising it higher and higher towards the roof to claim the last dregs. Both bottles slammed down on the table within milliseconds of each other, the one grasped by the human hand barely claiming the victory. The crowd erupted into another cheer, and as Latis'Myr went to pat her friend on the shoulder, Athos rolled forwards and retched, forfeiting his title, clear foamy liquid pouring out of his mouth and onto the table. Both her and the other hydrasi recoiled as the noise from the crowd dwindled into silence.

"Congratulations." Athos looked up, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand, "you've beaten me...I don't know your name..." He was drawing in long breaths now, to try and make up for his lack of oxygen during the challenge, calming his body.

"Tash'Tir." The other hydrasi's face was a mixture of pleasure and concern, an odd mix. He stripped himself of his jacket and lay it down on the table, using it to mop up the damage as Athos reclined in his seat, head falling against the back, groaning. Latis'Myr decided she would rather look at the red ink patterns on the other hydrasi than the foam on the table.

"She said she'd do the do with you if you won." He managed, avoiding using any exact words for what he was trying to describe – human immaturity. Tash'Tir retracted his hand from his jacket, straightening up and turning his attention straight to her, dedication to cleaning the mess forgotten. He wordlessly extended his arm out towards her in a mostly controlled manner, for alcohol absorption was not instant – the first stage of connection. Athos slammed his hand down onto the table. Tash'Tir's hand shot back as she brushed his fingers, "not here, toilets!"  
  
The small crowd parted for them, light murmuring audible. Latis'Myr spotted one of the ladies Tash'Tir had been talking to earlier, the one in the dress, frowning deeply. She was not sure why the human was frowning, considering she would be in with another chance tomorrow, or the day after that.  
  
The murmurs began to fade. The simple touch of fingers had been enough for her body to start preparing itself, taking the sensitivity away from her ears and to her skin, so much so that the warm air around her was enough to quicken her heartbeat. She reached for the door handle, the cool metal sending shivers down her arm, pulled it open, reached for his hand, and pulled him in.

 


	4. T-687 (II), The Budding Flower

**Time = T-687 years, The Budding Flower**

__The portal spat him out like he was some vile tasting nutrient. He landed on a single foot, perfectly balanced by the weight of his tail, only for his four other limbs to lose status as arms and become legs as he sharply pulled back as the portal snapped shut.  
Of all the portals, he judged the Earth-Mars link as the harshest, as the artificial environmental dome built around the originally red coloured planet did not react well to the interaction with a planet that had a real atmosphere; the portal opening and closing disrupted the settings, although only for an instant.  
"Sias Caticys," a human male was stood directly ahead, raising a single knee to his chest and pushing out his arms, one forwards and backwards, in half circles a traditional icoscaite salute, "you are getting much more graceful in your landings, Sias."  
"Of course." Caticys barely acknowledged the masked human as he adjusted his uniform, pulling the shoulder plates forwards before the human could step over to take the task as his responsibility. Humans did not need to touch to be useful, that was how he saw it, and this particular human, Fletcher Morris, he wished he did not know him by name, liked to make himself as useful as possible.  
"Lysa has prepared you a broth, Sias," Fletcher beamed, folding his arms behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels, "Lysa says it will be perfect for a budding little flower, like you, Sias." Flower was it? He was no flower, or if he was, he was certainly not the petals that humans seemed to bring to mind first when they heard that word; his back scales were almost all soft, a recent development, but a painful and ugly one nevertheless. He was grateful of those scales being on his back, for then they were not visible unless he stripped himself of his clothes, which he had only thus far done for examiners of his health.  
Being a socias, Caticys had no natural interest in pursuing any kind of relationship despite the fact his gender demanded he participated in one – but that would be determined for him, and deteriorating health would set him up quickly than hinder as it did for the other two genders when they were examined and proved to be suffering from bad health, and bad health for a colasi or coskyli meant they were unworthy of passing on their genes; the amount of soft scales did not determined how long a lifespan one had, but in a time of desperation, bad health was not to be risked passing onto the next generation. They were already weak enough, and pretending to be strong drained what energy they had. His colparent had one patch of soft scales, on her neck, when the plague took her – even then, he had been experiencing a development of his third patch, which later joined with his first patch as the area of the softness spread. He remembered screaming when it came through, alone, in the bottom of their Afriri fort.  
"I do not need a broth." Caticys replied shortly, twisting his head to examine what was around him besides the human, which was the same grey towers and visible domed sky he saw each time he came. It was one of the better views; it had an odd tranquillity, which he put down to the lack of buildings on the landscape. He could see everything, and there was a lack of places to hide, not that anyone needed to hide. Mars would not revolt.  
The red planet did not need many buildings, considering it was dedicated to coordinating with the probes in the patrol of the vast galaxy, occasionally able to report the discovery of a new world, although most were gas giants or if it was made of rock and not belonging to a primitive life form, too much was needed to be done in terraforming it that the effort was not worth the time, and then passing along that information to Afriri, the Earth base where portal management was governed, and thus this dusty red world fell into his responsibilities. Mars had a higher population of portals than buildings. It seemed rather silly for a portal based world to be one with an artificial atmosphere, but that did not matter if icoscaites did not live there – it was humans who mostly resided here, and humans were a highly adaptable species. And they also preferred the temperature set at a much colder one than he had been raised in. Afriri was the warmest of the Earth landmasses. Perhaps that was why he was always cold. Perhaps that was why Fletcher offered him a broth.  
"It is a wonderful broth, Sias." Fletcher insisted, stepping forwards to brush invisible dust from Caticys's shoulders. He stepped back purposefully, rising onto two legs in the attempt to put his shoulders above Fletcher's reach, but the human male appeared to have predicted that move, outstretching so that a single hand brushed against one of his more prominent backbones. Caticys felt his back tense up, freezing himself in place for time enough for Fletcher to slide that hand around the bone and clutch it tightly, stepping up to press their chests together. Fletcher was a tall human. They were stood eye to eye, "weak spot, found it."  
"You would not dare." Caticys stated, flatly with a tone laced with ice. It was true that the human had correctly identified the icoscaite weakness and set himself up in a position to do serious damage, but this human was no trained solider. Caticys could break several ribs if he pulled away, sacrificing his own bone, as he drove his the sharp joint of his arm into his attackers chest; that was one of many options. Yet, there was no malice in Fletcher's eyes, so Caticys forced himself to calm, settling his quickening blood to normal levels.  
"Do you think I could join the military, Sias?" Fletcher questioned with a light smile, slackening his grip. This man was not trying to hurt him; he was trying to show off. Icoscaites, as conquerors, naturally enjoyed physical sparring, and he should not have been surprised to find this man trying to use that to get his attention, since that was all Fletcher had tried to do in the time he knew him. It was not for affection, as Fletcher, from what the young man had told him, was engaged to a woman named Lysa. This was for higher power. Fletcher was just asking to be exploited; Caticys twisted away, lashing out with his tail, which hit the human cleanly in the side of the leg, causing him to stagger to one side, grin becoming slightly lopsided as he struggled for balance. A much less painful alternative for both parties.  
"No." Caticys ran his hand down his tail as it returned to its normal position behind him.  
"Why not, Sias, am I not good?" Disheartened, a now steady Fletcher looked towards him desperately, mirroring Caticys' reaction by reaching down his own leg to rub the retaliation damage.  
"The military are trained from an early age. You have been settled in your job." Caticys answered, "take me to the main hub." Fletcher nodded numbly. Caticys knew the way to the main block, but he always enjoyed being escorted, even if it was Fletcher doing it. He let the human get several steps ahead of him before he began to follow, taking long two-legged strides across the dusty terrain.  
They did not cover much distance before Fletcher began to hum, a tune that seemed to be constructed from either various tunes intertwined together or a new invention from the top of his brain. Humans often turned to soft sounds to console themselves. Caticys wished that he went about consoling himself more quietly; he had been light, letting the incident slide with only a lash around the legs. He should have hit him harder, broken a bone for that kind of touching of his delicate parts – that kind of threat. The lack of constant icoscaite presence here was certainly a factor that contributed to these humans; Fletcher was a token that represented all of the Mars colonists quite well, in his opinion, having a lack of discipline. Humans did have a purpose to serve and please the icoscaites, that was true, but pleasing them was not to the extent of trying to feed the fire that represented the aggressive nature of the icoscaite species. He would use Fletcher for an outlet if he wished to use Fletcher as an outlet; he would not use Fletcher as an outlet when Fletcher wanted to make himself feel special – which the human surely would not if he was on his back gasping for breath as his snapped ribs clawed away at his lungs.  
"Have you been assigned a mate pair yet, Sias?" Fletcher cut his wordless sound making short as he hesitated in front of the door for Caticys to ensure that the sliding door would only have to open once. At least he always referred to him as his title when he spoke to him, Caticys mused, which was better than the useless boy that he wondered if would still be present in the facility after the last time, when he had unleashed a fury loud enough to almost deafen the small human that had ultimately cowered before him.  
"No." Caticys shook his head, pushing his way past Fletcher without making any physical contact to step inside the door as it opened, stepping to one side as he did so the human would be able to follow and reclaim the lead. He did so with some grace, side-stepping through the opening and turning, not sharply, to the right, to lead him down to familiar passageway that Caticys knew ended in the room in which the new portals were manipulated; which was also the meeting room, seeing as new portals were not created often in this place, and an empty room served for what he needed to do here.  
"You will be soon, won't you, Sias?" Fletcher pressed, ignoring the warning tone in Caticys' voice. He was not sure why the human was being so nosey. A double bonding ceremony for Caticys and his colasi and coskyli and Fletcher with his wife was something Caticys would not consider if the other option was immediate death.  
"Things are being arranged." He revealed, which was as much as he knew, although his chosen tone suggested that he was aware of much more. There was no socias in the now breeding generation of the six highest icoscaite families, but he had the privilege of being the only one in the second tier that was of an age to breed by almost a generation, it was a subject to be taken to the high court – partner him or make him the first high class socias in many generations to sell out his body. His quality of blood would be given away to the highest chance of successfully producing infants of the colasi gender, with little, if any, say on his part.  
Not that he was interested. He himself had been born from a union of three, although the socias that had been one of his parents had passed before Caticys himself was born after a string of unsuccessful attempts at reproduction. He was not quite sure how many children they lost in between Litras, his colasi sibling, and himself, but they had six long Earth years between them. Litras herself had not chosen a mate yet, although Caticys believed she was courting a coskyli from the tier below, which would not be a problem, but there was no urgency with her to reproduce; in another couple of Earth years, yes, but she had those few years to dabble around until she was happy with her choice, a liberty the socias gender did not have.  
It was almost perfect evolution that the socias gender had no interest in pursuing romance the same way that the colasi and coskyli genders did. It was possible, Caticys had concluded, that it was generations of time and the importance of the rarest gender to simply get the job done that had suppressed sexual and romantic desires in the socias brain. But, if he was mated, which seemed to be the way the talks were tipping, for his honour, to whomever it was, he would be most certainly be taking up new residence on one of the five other landmasses, and thus would have new duties, all which would be better than monitoring the status of the portals on Mars and several of the other portal worlds – his sibling colasi could hold the fort on her own, Caticys was sure of that. She had been handling the task quite well, with his assistance, now that their cosparent had taken to dying slowly, unfit to do anything but spend all her time surrounded by the hydrasi servants that she seemed to love; their whole fort was swamping with the finned genderless aliens, and he did not believe that when their cosparent finally passed, Litras intended to replace any of them with humans, which was all as well. Hydrasi rarely needed scolding.  
"You shall have to visit us at least once more, after you find out who you will be bonded to, Sias, so we can have a farewell party for you." Fletcher cast a glance over his shoulder at him as he walked, which then dropped to his own shoulder as the human raised his hand to flatten down the fur that lined the back of his uniform. Caticys doubted he wore the uniform often. It had probably been bundled up in a corner, revived only for each of his visits. He was probably hoping that the replacement Litras sent in his place would be less strict, because she would certainly not come to Mars herself, and upon that line of thinking, it was that he understood why Fletcher had been questioning him – the human wanted to know when he was rid of the icoscaite socias that he failed time and time again to impress. Caticys considered informing him that he would not impress the icoscaite who came next, or the one after that.  
"Open a portal to a new planet and give me the honour of being the first to walk upon that new world and I will give you the means for a party." He remarked. Fletcher reached the door, looking over his shoulder once more, grin renewed.  
"I can grant you that, Sias." He reported proudly. Caticys would be lying to himself if he denied being surprised by Fletcher's words as he had felt his facial bone ridge rise as his face contorted to betray his emotional reaction. In the years he had been monitoring the portals here, the colonists had not discovered a planet suitable to walk on. Usually, in terms of life, human or hydrasi scouts went first, to ensure safety, after the probes investigated first to prevent setting a marker on a world owned by those who still sought revenge for the first empire, to set up a portal link back to what was now home. The idea of stepping out onto something that had been identified as a rock with a breathable atmosphere to set up a portal was a fleeting dream that Caticys had for not only the factor of danger and excitement.  
It would make that world his, and that would immortalise his name as a conqueror of that planet, especially if the life forms, however insignificant, on that planet brought the possibility of the end of the plague closer. Fletcher Morris, the boy who wanted nothing but to impress him, would quite possibly get an honorary mention in his notes.  
"You have found a new rock with an atmosphere?" Caticys questioned, struggling to keep the enthusiasm from his voice. Fletcher nodded quickly as the door swept away. The room ahead had a considerably smaller amount of humans in it that Caticys was used to seeing on his visits, but that was certainly due to the ring of light pulsing in the centre of the room. Caticys was very much aware of his pupils dilating.  
"We managed to open this up the day before yesterday, very unexpectedly, but I said, since I knew you were coming today, that we should save making a report because I knew you would like to be the first to see it," Fletcher explained, resting both of his hands on the top of his hip bones, "and perhaps then, you could put in a good word for us and send some of the builders over to refine the atmosphere dome so we can go back and forth between here and Mars more often, you know because you can just about do the landing, but it just makes us humans throw up and sometimes..." he trailed off as he realised as Caticys tilted his head towards him with a side glance that informed the man he had said enough. It was a fair reward, and Caticys had to admit that Fletcher using him as an icoscaite of power that he personally knew to gain a higher certainty of a reward was pretty smart for a man that had the words 'exploit me' practically carved into his forehead.  
"You shall get the dome refinements." Caticys gave a single sharp nod as he turned his gaze back to the portal. His eyes were probably as wide as saucers right now, the amber of his eyes forced to a narrow outline as the black of his pupils encompassed most of his eyes.  
"We don't know anything about the planetoid, bar the atmosphere is breathable. We requested that the probe operators did not sent in a drone in your name, Sias. Mr. Morris said you would prefer it pure." A woman, Millie Tapia, a lady with skin only slightly lighter than his own but years older, the voice who guided the Mars colony. Her face was wrinkled with age, and as she chipped in from the corner of the room, the creases around her mouth became misshapen. Fletcher once again climbed the ranks in his mental chart of decent humans as the woman made her statement. The boy did listen then. Probes did not enter the atmosphere, but drones, a smaller class of ground probes, that did do that, which was somewhat tainting. Caticys opened his mouth to make his reply.  
"Take this, Sias!" Fletcher suddenly piped up, stepping out in front of Caticys and pushing an opaque flask towards his hands, which was warm and most definitely contained that broth that he had been so insistent that he tried – he consequently dropped down a rung in the hierarchy and changed the opinion to a listener to a human with the capacity to listen selectively. Still, the young man insisted in transferring the metallic flask from his clammy white hands to his care. Caticys only took it to avoid the contents splashing out all over the floor.  
"That is what you will need to return to us, Sias," Millie continued, nodding at the capsule that was perhaps not the flask of broth that he thought it was. Caticys peered down at the cylinder, twisting it round in his palms, "travel at least a hundred metres from where you arrive and then activate it by twisting the top.  
“You'll have half a minute to bury it in the ground before it activates and sets itself up as a portal on the planetoid. You know the co-ordinates to return to us, or home, if you wish, but a return would be more appropriate, I think you will agree."  
He could tell from her face that she did not approve of this folly, as she would likely label it, finding it an unnecessary danger on his part. They had no idea what was on the other side of the portal, something potentially deadly, the reason why scouts were usually sent ahead first, to make sure no icoscaite lives would be lost. It would be on her head if any harm came to him, even though it was his decision to be the first to cross this portal, and there was nothing she could say to change that opinion.  
"I will report back." Caticys nodded as he mentally forgave Fletcher for misjudging him when he had only been supplying him with a vital piece of equipment for his short visit, "you will be aware of my movements?" Millie nodded. She was much easier to communicate with than Fletcher was, but she put that down to her years giving her the experience she needed to be classified as a human who knew how to speak; perhaps Fletcher would one day mature to have her wisdom, or perhaps not, as she had failed to turn the majority of the colony she headed to her line of behaviour, "I am ready to proceed then." He announced, exhaling deeply. He clutched the portal container to his chest as he stepped towards the light, feeling his own heartbeat slow as the beat of it began to drum in his sound receptors.  
Anticipation.  
"Good luck, Sias." Millie nodded at him as he stepped up to the ring of light, feeling the warmth of the portal on his face as he prepared to immerse himself in to the energy.  
He closed his eyes, stepped inside, finding his breath suddenly torn from him as he fell heavily into a mound of cold, capsule slipping from his thin pointed fingers and rolling away; sudden cold bit at his skin.  
He screamed for air, opening his mouth and sucking it in as the thousand cold teeth tore at his lungs. Stunned, he lay on his side for a moment, moisture was seeping through his clothing, dampening the skin that was otherwise protected by a thin layer of cloth; the wet made contact with his soft scales, and Caticys struggled to hold his tongue, the pain an agonising assault to what had been a dormant spread of pain – but he would not shout out. He was the highest ranking socias of Afriri. He would not be broken by the cold.  
Of all the types and classifications of worlds, it was an ice would in which he had been led to, an unremarkable ball of ice without any kind of noticeable features. The atmosphere felt heavy, like a weight pressing into his exposed sides. He needed to get up.  
Limbs furiously shaking, he pushed himself up from the white frosted ground, wrapping his arms around himself as soon as he successfully put himself on two of his legs; the joint of the left back leg appeared to have fused itself to the ground however, and Caticys had to remove his hands from his chest to seize hold of his leg and physically remove it from the ground, ripping the fabric that masked his leg and exposing more bare flesh to the cold. The other left knee did not need the assistance of his other limbs to move, so Caticys was successful in raising himself up to his feet, again clutching at himself as he did to conserve the little heat he had left – his body was shivering. He needed to move. He needed the capsule.  
Located on the top of an inclined plane, the capsule had rolled down through the thick white covering of snow, leaving a distinct path to mark the ground it had crossed, the same wind that whipped at his neck fin being the wind responsible for forcing the slight curve in the direction. It was a step drop, and Caticys had to lower his height to six legs be able to consider moving down the mound. He kept his body close to the top of the layer of snow, letting his tail act as the balance as he began to shuffle down the slope, wobbling as the weather, unaccustomed to having visitors, buffeted at his side; he would not be here long enough to determine if this world held any life, or had the potential for it, but Caticys doubted that even if he wanted to that kind of quest for himself would result in this planet becoming his final resting place. He was sure that the air, much colder than any place on Earth, was beginning to freeze him from the inside out, coating his throat with thin layers of ice as he fought to keep breathing. He was in danger. It cost too much energy to move, he could feel himself wavering, and more than once he had to throw out a leg to balance himself when he slipped and prevent a disaster from falling.  
If he fell, there was no way Caticys was going to get back up.  
He needed to reach the capsule, twist it, and bury it. That was all. It was not a hard task, though the climate was forbidding it. He urged himself onward, balling one of his palms into fists as his foot slid and refused to grip, a chill not generated by the weather gripping his heart as he lost himself in fear, only grounded when his foot stopped itself on what appeared to be a ledge hidden in a mound of snow. Breathing rapidly, he brought the balled hand to his throat, wrapping his palm around his neck to massage it and open up the closing passageway. Breathe. He looked up to the sky, a vast grey that threatened, if anything like the weather of Earth, an onslaught of cold flakes was due. He wondered how far away he was from home – not Earth – home being the fragments of dust that remained from the broken planet he had never known. That was far away, far far away in a segment of the black void guarded by the demons of the night. They could never get close to home – yet two distant spots in the sky, glowing yellow spots, informed him that this planetoid was part of a binary star system, just like home.  
The cylinder was close too, an arm's reach away, tiled at an angle that was clearly stopping it from falling any further despite the fact the slope was not yet at the end. He stretched out for it, balancing himself out cautiously as he snatched it away from the cold powder that encased it. Done with this planet and desperate for warmth, he twisted the end, but nothing happened. His clothes were whipping his legs, neck fin attacking his neck. He was lucky to be a socias now, for his neck fin was not long enough to challenge his vision, certainly not at eighteen Earth years of age, but the sensation in both areas, mostly around his legs that a grip was already a challenge, did nothing but fuel his panic. He left the capsule in one four fingered hand as he went to plant another leg. If he lived his full life expectancy, and his fin left to grow like his horns, both of these features could reach three quarters of the length of the female genders, but in the time of a coskyli or colasi lifespan, they would only reach half. If he was older, besides the possible partial blinding, he would have also had longer tassels on his clothing for when he stood on two legs, and now that would only serve to tangle legs that would be much more weakened from more effects of the plague, that all were affected by, even with less soft scales, to which he had many.  
Youth was how he was going to make it out of here; panic was the reason he had been turning the wrong end of the cylinder.  
Shuffling his feet to distribute his weight more evenly, he let his foreleg become an arm again, his hand grip softening to a gentler one as the second palm gripped hold; he turned the metal to an angle that would make the now correctly identified end easier to twist, pulling the cylinder into the inside of one of his legs as a hard surface of rest as he poured his rapidly draining strength into his arm muscles, yet the capsule top refused to move, and then his fingers slipped from the activation mechanism, failing to grip what was tightly bound to the rest of the device. He would not be defeated by a portal. He pushed at it harder, more carelessly, resulting in the capsule, the pressure of compression against his leg suddenly released, being propelled into the air. A combination of reflexes and instinct had him dive for it, launching himself from his crouch after the spinning metal coated device, years of training and practice, not quite with portal cylinders, had the cylinder meet his hands in a clean catch, swiping it away from its escape – but there was no floor to land.  
For a moment, Caticys felt like he was suspended in the air by some kind of invisible counter force to gravity, but that adrenaline inducing feeling was quickly ripped away as the ground met his back, a sickening crack echoing through his bones only milliseconds before the wave of pain washed over him.  
Caticys screamed.

 

 


	5. T-452 (I), The Blank Face

**Time = T-452 years, The Blank Face**

The first indication that his assignment was not going to go to plan was when the breaks of his little one-man craft refused to respond in time with his fingers, resulting with a collision with the dock at a velocity that generated a force he was very much sure was strong enough to result in whiplash.

The second indication had been when he had discovered that the room on the other side of the dock was inhabited. The intelligence had been clear that this dock was for a storage facility that was checked twice a day on a rotating schedule, and this hour was far from one of those scheduled checks; but Luca knew that schedules did change, for schedules were what made one vulnerable.

The third indication was when the inhabitant of the room slammed his fist into the alarm. Less than a second later, the room erupted in a klaxon of noise, a blaring roar of a noise that faded out and repeated itself again and again.

The occupant of the room was reaching for something in his belt, his gun by no doubt – but he reacted faster, drawing his own weapon and understanding from the barely audible crack that the shot had been fired; the man in front of him dropping like a lead weight was enough to inform him that his bullet had found a mark. Of course, when he moved quickly over to the fallen man, weapon still drawn, he found that the fallen man was not dead – he had never intended to kill.

The man was Sven Oester, the man he had been sent to collect.

He immediately disregarded the indications of impending failure.

"Turn off the warning beacon." He demanded, indicating to the side panel, "tell them you slipped and pressed it by accident." Sven Oester, second in command of this foul unit, simply glared up at him stubbornly. His tight blonde curls were not as well kept as they were in the pictures, he observed; although he was willing to vouch that the reports were correct in terms of what response he would get – Sven was not going to do as requested, "I am fully trained in the art of medicine. I know exactly how to bend you to my every whim."

"Who are you to dare?" Which one are you?" Sven questioned in a voice of obvious anger, ignoring the last comment as much as he ignored the gun that had been redirected to hovering above his reproductive organs, gasping in slight pain only as he adjusted his posture to propping himself up on his elbows, "Mars Colony Rights Movement?"

"Scostia Rights Movement." He lied. He did not give his name, as that would betray his intentions and render his false affiliation void. His own name was Luca Palladino, not a name that would set of any alarm bells in the second in command of United Earth, but it was traceable. Luca was not an idiot – he was very much aware that recordings of these very events would be easily retrieved from the system, and what would seem like a correction would be enough to lead them down a false trail. He should assume he was bring watched right now, meaning that turning off the alarm would be utterly pointless – the longer he stood still, the longer they had to arrive and disarm him. He also needed time to finish his assignment.

"And you think you can just walk in here and shoot people with a relic from an ancient era?" Sven snorted, nodding to the gun which he finally acknowledged, "I had no idea Scostia was so foolish to undertake this kind of action, or are you acting alone? Do you not know of the tal-" Luca cut him off with a shot, the bullet penetrating where he had previously aligned the weapon. Sven screamed, and then fell silent, his head rolling to one side as he passed into unconsciousness from either pain or shock; both were treatable.

Luca wasted no time in crouching down, keeping his head trained to the ground to avoid any chance of facial recognition, deftly plucking the thin tablet from Sven's pocket as he replaced his pistol in his belt. He would have usually had a coat pocket for it, but he had chosen to leave his coat in his transportation as his original plan would have had him moving throughout the compound without arousing suspicion. He wasn't sure if he liked this turn of events – too many unknowns.

When he activated the screen, he found that the device wanted confirmation it was Sven accessing the device via an image of his face as well as a code. He knew the code, Cerys Casey was to thank for that; he pale petite ginger girl had infiltrated the United Earth some time ago, and whilst her communications had always been vague and sparse, they had been littered with gems – she would still be here, and Luca had concluded that it would be agreeable to see her freckled face again. Exploring, of course, was not an option.

He tapped in seven-five-six-one as the pin and then flashed it in front of Sven's face, and the small computer whirred and opened up to him; as the device would automatically lock itself after a certain time period, the first thing he did was pull up the settings and switch the access to simply a four digit pin consisting of four zeroes in a row, for his own convenience and for the fact time was not on his side – any moment now the other entrance to the room would burst open, and he would be surrounded, tables turned; yet Luca was not finished. Fortunately for him, it had been the second in command whom Luca had encountered and not a stray worker, and he could simply raise the tablet towards the door with the command l-o-c-k typed into the screen and ban all from entering without the access code of the leader, which of course they would be able to retrieve, but it would buy him more time.

As he pushed the tablet into the data slot on the side panel of the computer console, Luca deactivated the alarm in the off-chance any forces directed towards the room would stand down. He briefly considered typing out a quick message explaining it was an accident, but the locked door would not support his case, and he knew United Earth would not be foolish enough to simply take a written message, so he left it.

"Enthalpy." He offered the command word. Cerys appeared to be correct again, as he was logged into the computer system and able to follow the instructions he had been given to extract data onto the tablet, to join whatever precious information was already confined within the thin device – for that, he needed to type in the number four million and sixty seven, which almost as soon as he did, he heard the heavily placed kick vibrate the locked door, instincts guiding him to wrap his hand around the tablet and pull it from the slot, dropping it into his trouser pocket for safe-keeping. He had precious few seconds now, he estimated.

His next course of action was the unconscious man bleeding out on the floor.

Grasping hold of the man that was barely an inch smaller than him, Luca heaved Sven up, positioning him against his centre of mass and thus allowing him to carry the other man without extreme effort, towards the doorway that led to his craft; though as he pulled the other man through the opening to the one-man pod, Luca was aware of the little shift of lighting in the docking room as the other door opened. He spun around, letting Sven's body act as a shield, head tilted upwards to cover his own face, as he jumped backwards into the airlock that led to the little craft. A heat bullet ricocheted off the wall, aiming possibly for his shoulder but passing dangerously close to his ear – an area that would have risked a hit to their superior, a shot that if it had been successful, would have lost them their heads. He hit the close button with his elbow as soon as they were safely through into the narrow docking tube, maintaining his grip on his hostage as continued to move him a few steps in the direction of the door behind him, using his shoulder to open the door that would open up his pod; he then bundled him up and threw him down into the seat, hands free to shut the second door.

Luca sat down, unavoidably squashed, but still very able to pilot the pod, which he would need to be quick about, considering the people that were most likely through into the docking tube now. He fired up the spluttering engine, forcing the craft away from the dock, propelling it backwards into the air as he spun hard on the wheel, spinning the small craft at a hundred and eighty degree angle so that he could see where he was going, overestimating the turn and having to jerk it back sharply, Sven's head falling against his shoulder. He produced his final act of shoving his palm against the accelerator, letting the little craft ascend on its own into the higher atmosphere, which granted him the opportunity to take his hands away from the flight controls and drop the first aid kit from the ceiling.

He extracted the sealer and bandages, the former needed due to his weapon of choice – if he used the conventional weapon, the bullets of red hot heat energy would have automatically cauterised the two wounds he had inflicted; Luca did not stand for modernism, even if that modernism was just over the last seven hundred years, during which Earth had been governed by an alien force whom had brought their own technology – and while it was true most of the technology he used had origins from that alien culture, his weapon had been designed by human minds and constructed by human hands a long era ago; the bullets it fired held no afterthought for injuries inflicted that were not designed to be fatal, ripping through the flesh and leaving nothing but devastation. But he was a healer of sorts, and he knew how to aim to minimise the damage, and now, he needed to limit that even more.

Ripping the clothing around Sven's side first, he measured that wound as the most dangerous one as the other, if left to fester, may only be responsible for the loss of part only needed for reproduction, and therefore, in Luca's opinion, unnecessary for this man. Luca twisted the sealer in his fingers, clearing away the excess blood with the rag formed from fragments of Sven's former shirt before he lowered the device and began, side eyeing the flight console that displayed the position of his pod. He did not have long until he would be forced to take the controls again; he would not have the time to complete his work, but a partial temporary fix was better than leaving the man to bleed dry.

The flight console beeped as Luca clicked the sealer off, withdrawing his bloody hands from his roughly patched masterpiece and transferring them to the panel directly in front of him. It required a slightly awkward twist of his body and a quick wipe of his hands on Sven's clothing remnants before he placed his hands back on the console; he did not need to look down at the panel to know where he was, for the little view-screen informed him that he was in the upper atmosphere, hovering in place as the little pod awaited programming from its pilot. Luca wrapped a hand around the steering control, flexing his fingers to adjust the grip as he used his other hand to firmly press down on the accelerator key – the vessel jolted forwards, key vibrating to the touch as he abandoned it for what would change the angle of his craft. He almost missed it, running his fingers over the control panel until he found the familiar texture of the button. This was his first flight in the craft, otherwise he would have committed every inch to memory.

Wasting no more time, he pushed it down the slider, slowly, locking it into a position that he calculated would compromise for the speed he was going with the natural curvature of the Earth. The craft approved of the trajectory, informing him that he was not going to make contact with the sea before he met land – Europe; the pod did have the capability to help him further if he gave it his final destination, Valencia, but Luca knew better than to leave that as information to be salvaged. He was a pilot; he did not need a machine to fly for him.

His craft was not the fastest, but it was not slow. It was the fastest ship that Luca, and his superiors, trusted himself to fly without the autopilot function. Computers worked faster than human minds, even those refined for the purpose of calculation. It was also true that he was not the best of the pilots, but medicine and weapons were his main skills, others just useful skills that backed up his talents. Toby Brent, the leader of their movement, named him the sharpest shooter he had ever seen, which was true for all of the other people Luca knew. Luca's bullets hit exactly where he wanted them to.

It seemed that this job had been a waste of his talents, yet Luca knew it could have easily required all his skill. Sven Oester was not supposed to be in the storage facility, let alone that room; he had been planning to use the portal at the centre of the facility to cross over to Egypt to kidnap the man after disabling him with a silencer on his gun – which would have not been an easy feat for the security, but intelligence had suggested Sven's location at this time and the portal would have opened for his there, and remained if he tagged it. That intelligence had been wrong.

Even out of Libya, the location of the storage facility, Luca knew that he was not safe from pursuit, from crafts that were most likely larger and more powerful than his own, able to rip his vessel in two with ease if he did not have a valued prisoner on board – but he had the element of surprise on his side, for it would take time to power up these dreadnoughts of power and for the chase to begin.

He then became painfully aware that he had not masked his heat signature, and instinctively looked backwards to gain a glimpse out of the backward screen, only greeted by a haze of blue. Comforted, Luca switched his attention back to the controls, quickly moving his hands across the various buttons and levers to enable the cool water based shielding, a rare hydrasi invention originally designed to protect the species from the heat that was damaging to their skin, an endeavour that he soon realised, with dread, had come to late when the enclosed space around him began to fill with bright red light.

Luca slowly turned his head, confirming his fears as he observed a larger streamlined craft had fully removed the sight of the cloudless sky; he felt his eyes expand to the size of dinner plates.

Evasive manoeuvres would be his old saviour. He threw himself against the steering mechanism, glad for the first time for small size of the pod as the cramped space was an advantage for being able to navigate smaller spaces and make sharper turns; useful if he was not up in the open field of the sky – exposed. He found himself relying on his second advantage of being a smaller target, meaning he would be harder to hit – a smaller target moving in an irregular manner was even harder.

He slammed his hand down onto the lever, spinning the craft around as he sent it plummeting down; the lack of room inside the pod working once more to his advantage as there was little the movement could do but jolt him seeing as he was already leaning against the flight controls, although the same could not be said for Sven, who's unconscious form fell forwards, colliding with the part of the console Luca himself was not laying, but his right hand was. The impact did not cause Luca any pain, and if Sven had been conscious, he doubted Sven would have felt much pain himself, for the short distance he fell did not provide enough of a build-up in momentum for any damage to occur. It did make him jump a little though, which was not good news. He was slipping. He could not give in to his emotions.

The warning shot came next, skimming the side of his craft as he spiralled into its path, almost creating a collision with the top of a tall tree if he did not swing desperately to avoid it, and then as soon as he was safe he had to force upwards from the downward motion he had set it in, pulling it up to level ground to dance about the trees that were now in his path. He made the quick decision to steer himself in the direction in which the trees were closer together, which resulted in a rough journey – due to his craft brushing against the trees rather than any shots being fired. Luca was sure the other vessel was doing its best to apprehend him, but in close quarters like this, one mistimed shot would result in the destruction of his craft and ultimately his and Sven's deaths, which he knew would be a last resort and an action they would take if they were aware of Luca's access to their system and the chase was lost. With a person of less than Sven's importance, that time was now, but this would be until the end.

He could not lead them to Valencia, or even Spain.

He did waste time to throw his head over his shoulder, spotting the craft a further distance away than it originally was, but ploughing through the trees, snapping the thin ones or breaking them down with weapon fire, and in that moment of attention taken away from his front window, the corner of his craft forcefully crashed against a thick tree.

Luca reeled and connected with a wall, a blow that apparently had enough momentum to cause pain as his craft bounced away from the tree in question and hit the ground, his previous speed resulting in the craft rolling across the harsh terrain, only slowed by foliage; Luca clung to his seat, fingers trapped, head repeatedly meeting the wall before the pod ground to a halt.

He needed to get back up off the ground.

In panic, he blindly fell towards his console, not quite taking the time to work out where Sven was until he realised he was standing on the other man's head. He was making a grand mess of this. He sat himself down back down in his lopsided chair, pushing a hand through his hair and finding an expanding and unwanted spot of moisture. The other vessel would have caught up to him by now; he needed to stay calm. Failure was not an option.

He guided his bruised fingers back to the controls, forcing his little vessel upwards, very much aware that the larger craft was now above him due to the way the red light fell on his own pod; thoughts of his impending failure threatened to dominate him, mixed with a terrible combination of his own anger.

He should have seen it. A craft like this could not have found him in the time it did, meaning that it had been lying in wait. Sven had been waiting for him, to ensure that Luca was successful and then caught red-handed. He did not know how they had found out, but that was a thought process for later – but they were playing a risky game, yet Luca's mind could see right through it.

But that die had already been cast.

Luca pushed down the wave of negative emotion with his determination, using the accelerator as a trigger for that mental action, narrowly avoiding the grappling hooks that shot out from the United Earth ship in an attempt to seize his craft, darting away through an opening in the trees that took him away from his security; but he gained a view of the dazzling sapphire ocean, something Luca always enjoyed the sight of, even now his face breaking into a nervous smile.

It was nice to be away from the trees, especially after the calamity they had caused, but the ocean gave him much less freedom – he did not even know exactly which part of water this was, bar being the body that divided the continents of Africa and Europe, but he somehow did not see the country he was in being Libya or Algeria, which would have been his original guesses from his flight path. The ocean looked so tranquil, and so safe, but Luca felt more than uncertain that the ocean would grant him any cover, and if his craft had sustained enough damage, the water would leak through and drown him, of which the only benefit would be preventing his own capture and torture in the extracting of information.

But Luca did not want to die clawing at his own throat for breath.

Luca did not want to die at all.

Death could be an option for both cases of action, and his craft was still moving, water surrounding him now. It was emotion that restricted his dive, and he had banished emotions.

He closed his eyes tightly, biting his lip to hold his breath as he re-angled his craft once more, hitting the water and slicing through the translucent depths at a diagonal that kept him from reaching dangerous pressures, following the path of the seabed until it dropped away to the deep sea. There was no leakage of water, a very positive sign; unless the damage was micro-fractures, in which he would be suddenly engulfed at a later time. If that was the case, there was nothing he could do now – resurfacing would make the pressure even greater and crush the pod for sure. The United Earth vessel was still on his tail, undeterred by his entry to a different medium – it was gaining on him again now, faster speed and lack of obstacles proving as an advantage. He decided then, on a fleeting thought, to pull himself around towards the coast, swinging in an arc to avoid the other vessel as he flew himself through the shallow waters, putting more distance between himself and the larger vessel as it struggled to make a quick turn with its auto-pilot functions, but Luca knew that it would not be held up for long.

That was when he saw the cave, a narrow opening that he judged, even from a distance that he leaned forwards to squint at, was large enough for him to fit, but most certainly not the larger ship; it was a tunnel, his instruments read, perhaps not natural, a carved out segment of the rock that cut through several hundred metres of landmass. The larger ship would be forced to go around.

Luca grinned, letting a small laugh escape from his lips. An emotional response, but he let it slide. He was going to make it. With renewed energy, he forced out as much speed as he could get from his pod, steering directly towards the opening in the rock, of which the occupants of the larger vessel appeared to have guessed his motives from the bursts of energy that surged towards him, poorly compensated for the change in density of what they were travelling through. One did manage to make some minor contact with the back of the pod, but did nothing but push him forwards to the rock tunnel, which was growing larger and larger in size in his window. The shots were coming faster now, desperate to the stage Luca had known would be inevitable; he gritted his teeth as he was forced to slow to navigate the opening of the cave, a burst of energy smashing into the rock, several layers breaking away and sinking slowly to the rock-bed.

He held his breath once more until he was inside, although he did not deem himself as safe, as the United Earth vessel was more than capable of sitting outside the tunnel and firing inwards towards him, or at the walls, which may collapse the passage and lead to his demise. He was beginning to feel drowsy – probably from his head wound, but Luca did not allow himself to slow down his pod any more, taking another battering from the walls of the passageway as he forced himself through, desperate to see the light of day again without another vessel on his trail. With the water shielding still partially stable, he would be much harder to track this time, and even if his trail was fully masked from his point, which he knew it was not for the shielding was far from fully powered, it would not be an impossibility for the members of United Earth knew of this tunnel and where the exit was, and could easily go above land to cut him off. He should not think like that. Doubting his chances could lead to his downfall. He could not give into his emotions.

Eventually the darkness of the tunnel gave way to the familiar translucent blue of the ocean, which Luca found free of any other vessels. Slightly assured, he took some time to position himself and plot out his course back to Spain, which was not too hard of a task considering he was still mostly on course, for upon mapping he found he was on the coast of Tunisia. On his ideal course, Luca would not see the Tunisian coast, cutting across the mainland was the most efficient route, but the coast did not put him too far away.

He let the computer control his speed, sitting back with only his left hand on the steering mechanism, refusing to investigate the state of his head. All senses on getting to Valencia now. He did not want to trigger any more emotions, so it would be better, he convinced himself, if he did not know.

Sven was still on the floor, and Luca felt obligated to remove him from that position, perhaps for his own comfort than the blonde haired man's safety. Sven did had a fresh bruise blossoming on his forehead, but he showed no signs of sustaining any more serious damage besides perhaps a twisted ankle when Luca gave him a once over. He did have to check several times, the readings on his devices fading in and out of focus.

By the time he reached the country of his destination, he was struggling to stay awake, his right hand gripping at his hair tightly as became aware he was losing too much blood, and then became angry for choosing on to treat it.

He was not designed for this.

Luca did not know where his medical kit was, and as the time continued to pass, he found his frustration rising as he struggled to gain enough focus to find where he was landing his pod, hovering about the location of headquarters of his unit for a good time before another small craft rose to guide him down. When he landed, he did not move, wrapping his arms around his head as he found himself feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the crumbling of his emotional blockade. Holding his head, he began to squeeze.

And then he lashed out, fist connecting with the steering wheel, slamming the metal round into his arm. He hit it again, over and over, until he could feel nothing.

"Luca, Luca, stop!" Someone was calling out to him, dragging him backwards and out of the pod, his fists left to flap about uselessly in the air, "shhh, shhh."

He lashed out with his legs instead, until he found that he could no longer move them. He was being restrained, "shhh, Luca, calm down, shhh."

He was shaking when the leader of the Europe Independence Movement wrapped his arms around him and told him it was all going to be okay.

 

 


	6. T (II), The Conformist

**Time = T, The Conformist**

It had taken place in the water, the temporary joining of limbs that crested his pleasure and then tipped him into a cascade that fell further than where it started, into the abyss of lost kinaesthesia. He aimed to climb out of that hole quickly, kicking phantom limbs to surface from the water, body recognising it was time to breathe from the air and quickly regulating his breathing.

Cii’Tone was slower to rise, for it had not been the one to pull away, barely disturbing the water as its head emerged. So content, it was by in face, large pools of purple – eyes, four of them, peeling open to stare upon him with a smile dressing its features.

This was the act Quetas'Tir had promised in return for the favour of healing. Cii’Tone would have done it regardless, but his fellow hydrasi needed to mate to keep the chemicals balanced in its brain – to function properly – a service he must provide to ensure further treatment if injury later occurred. Cii'Tone did not mate with others – if they had lived half a century ago, Cii'Tone would be dead. In this time, despite low resources, it was possible to mimic the reaction of chemicals in the brain to create the illusion of mating. Quetas'Tir could have easily let this continue, but he could not let the other hydrasi help him without a thank you, and this was the only way he knew how. Maybe it was pity; it was not right to abandon those who were defective, especially while life was so precious.

Quetas'Tir held its gaze for nothing more than a few nanoseconds. Cii'Tone was shamed, so he would not spend more time than necessary with the other hydrasi, for his own honour, searching for the side of the pool with his hands. It was a harder task for him that it had ever been, not for the sense of the natural temporary euphoria that came with mating, but for his own sight. He had lost his larger left eye, and the in the case of the smaller eye, although still mostly intact, it presented him with a smear of infra-red that was proving hard for his brain to digest. It had startled him when he had found that Cii'Tone had taken hold of his arms and had guided him towards the edge, placing his palms against the soil.

Wordlessly, Quetas'Tir slid out, collecting his items of clothing from where they lay discarded, Cii'Tone's eyes following him as he slipped into them; the damp of his body instantly becoming absorbed by the fabric that covered his body – he did not mind, stored moisture would keep his skin fresher for longer.

Then he had left, the debt paid in full, choosing the shadows to return to the settlement of broken metal buildings.

The air still smelt acrid from the last burning. The bodies had been removed, damaged homes mostly reformed from the misshapen materials. He had not played much of a part in that, tucked away in Cii'Tone's little hut, recovering. This was his first real journey out in what was perhaps days, and he pondered in which part of the community he should emerge – they would have missed his presence, and he needed to cleanse himself; his mating with Cii'Tone had not been a full mating, for there had been no eggs, but that had been purposeful. He still required to mask it by layering it with others, which would not be a problem. There was always someone interested.

He selected the side of the plantation to make his reappearance. It was not much of a building, but offered the fruits and vegetables that were essential to both human and hydrasi diets, and as usual, it remained; the building was not without scars and constantly needed the metal reshaped or replaced to prevent collapse. Many took the survival of the building as a sign that they were not defeated, although there was nothing but the universe itself to fight.

He found Harley first, the human boy, a young man truly in age. He casually manoeuvred himself to stand beside him, reaching out a hand for the apple Harley was tossing up and down and snatching it out the air; when Harley turned to glare at the thief, Quetas'Tir offered him a sly smile. Harley embraced him instantly – not a tight, gripping hug, but a short, gentle one.

“You are alive then,” Harley's tone was as soft as his embrace, “I guessed you were okay, but Cii'Tone doesn't disclose much – hoards you in there like a prize possession. You didn't...?”

“No.” Quetas'Tir lied easily. Harley released him from the hug, satisfied. He took one bite of the apple, pulling away the skin to access the soft centre, the taste of the fruit against his tongue reminding him of his dormant hunger.

“What did you do then, sleep? You look like you have serious energy to expend.” Harley reached out for the flap of apple skin that Quetas'Tir had pulled back, snapping it off with his fingers and popping it into his mouth.

“Adjusting to this new sense of vision took some effort, and Cii'Tone wasn't going to let me out unless it was a hundred and ten percent certain I wasn't going to walk into something and be back an hour later with more damage to repair.” Quetas'Tir shrugged. He was not lying here, for while he had spent a lot of time sleeping, his waking hours had been mostly confinement and lessons from Cii'Tone on how to see with two and a half eyes, a subject that Cii'Tone did not know anything but the biology of, and how his brain would be dealing with blanks on his vision. Emotionally, that had been another thing to learn, though that had been mostly an internal brooding session – then there had been the lecture on staying away from the building belonging to the hydrasi elder, to which Quetas'Tir had offered no attention whatsoever.

“I knew you'd be losing an eye, since I helped carry you back to Cii'Tone's place,” Harley said. “You're still better looking than that one is, I can tell you that. Anyway, we're having a community meeting shortly, which is why I came over here for the food you stole-” Harley gestured towards the apple, “I wanted a snack before it started but you seemed to need it more than I do,” he paused, “Where is your saviour anyway? I don't know if it has heard about the meeting. Got some hard news for it too, since I'm guessing it doesn't actually know the thing, with all attention on you and that.”

“Hard news?” Quetas'Tir questioned, tipping his head slightly. It was true that people – notably all human adults – had started to appear, heading for the entrance of the plantation hut to act as representatives for their respective groups or families.

“Maia's dead.” Harley returned. Quetas'Tir gulped down a chunk of apple rather too big to swallow.

“Oh.” He managed.

There was a silence as Quetas'Tir struggled to swallow the piece of apple, Harley watching the door to the plantation, now remaining undisturbed.

“I think it's about to begin. One of us needs to get Cii'Tone, unless it's planning to kidnap you for another night.” Harley broke the silence, turning his back towards his shorter friend.

“I've just escaped.” Quetas'Tir opted for a plain voice, yet choosing his words carefully, “I'm sure it isn't beyond you to find it and thank it for taking such good care of me so I could return to dong what I do best” There was no chance Cii'Tone would reveal anything, especially not to Harley, but this would render any of his friend's doubts void – if he did not want to see his healer again, then that naturally led to the assumption that he wanted as little to do with Cii'Tone as possible.

Harley laughed at that, and gave a nod of agreement. Quetas'Tir finished his apple, devouring it quickly now his observer had gone, picking it dry and dropping it in the compost pile in the centre of the square. Then nudged open the door and slipped inside.

Despite opting to remain near the entrance in order to stand with Harley when his friend returned, he was greeted by lines of various fruits and vegetables, and warmly by the people inside, patting him on the back and asking him about his eye and apologising for it – one having the audacity to remark that he could have done a better job than Cii'Tone on the eye the moment Cii'Tone arrived with Harley, which Quetas'Tir found himself somewhat irritated by; Cii'Tone was far too commonly disrespected here. He could understand dislike, but it was cruel to strip someone of their talents. He did not let his rage show, for he was hydrasi, simply commenting that what was done was done.

Though that was not quite the case, for Quetas'Tir knew of the time portals stored away with the elder hydrasi. Tools to be used, tools he could mention in this very meeting, and then his eye could be saved – and more. Years of pain and death would be over, back they could go, to a more peaceful time – and perhaps then, this would never happen. It was a wonderful thought, interrupted when he caught Cii'Tone's gaze shift to him.

For years, Quetas'Tir and Cii'Tone had known about the portals, an accident discovered while still in training in the main, now destroyed, compound of this desolate rock, before the war had ended. During an attack, Quetas'Tir had managed to break into the most heavily shielded section – dragging Cii'Tone with him – to hide. That was the first time they mated, as hydrasi barely out of childhood, legs still weak and unconditioned to the land. It had been Cii'Tone who had found the portals, but they had been too afraid to investigate, huddling together until they were dragged out when it was all done – and sworn to secrecy. Both of them had assumed the portals had been destroyed in the destruction of the place, but in recent times Quetas'Tir had found that not; he had been trained as a spy of sorts, and thus while his skills had no advantage now, he often found out snippets of information – in this case the fact that time portals had been smuggled out to be guarded by the elder hydrasi – _but for what?_

They were begging to be used. He'd spent time researching to the best of his ability, and planning what he could do if he got to them, and then how to get to them – the part of the plan he was stuck on, his eye, whilst being the first injury, not being the first knock-back. Cii'Tone insisted they hidden for public safety – but if they were not to be used, Quetas'Tir wanted to know why they had not been destroyed.

He had come to the conclusion that they were being stored until someone worthy came along. And that was going to be him.

Soon.

Cii'Tone was still staring at him, almost as if the other hydrasi could sense his thoughts. He stopped thinking about it. This was a group of people, starved of life and fuelled with hope. Without a firm direction, it would fall apart. They would all die. He needed to stick to his plan.

“Shall we begin?” A female voice rose above the light chatter, “I think there are enough people here to pass out what is discussed here today.” The speaker did not wait for any responses, simply for silence, “We lost a significant amount of people in the last incident.” Directly to the point; he would not have expected any less from Rhea.

“Some probably preventable-” Harley murmured.

“And unfortunately we have now been put in a critical situation.” Rhea continued, words layering over the end of Harley’s sentence. Quetas’Tir waited for her to pause to reply to his friend.

“All preventable if the people had not been in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He offered the barest hint of a shrug. “All things change things.”

“Like what?” Harley's eyebrow's twitched. He noticed Rhea was also looking directly at him.

“It doesn’t matter.” He returned quickly and silenced.

“We’re down to three hydrasi,” Rhea continued. Quetas’Tir felt his breath catch in the back of his throat. Harley had not told him this, only of Maia, a human he did not need to mourn for, “Quetas’Tir, our elder, and Cii’Tone.”

“The pool,” he managed. Most of the room had turned their attention to him now. Quetas’Tir was used to attention. He revelled in it, but now was not one of those times. Harley put his arm around him, but he did not want the comfort – he was older than most of these people, seen more at fifteen percent of his lifespan. He should act in that experience; he shrugged off Harley’s arm, standing up as straight as he could, “are their no eggs in the pool?”

“No,” Rhea shook her head. “Even if you were to produce some now, there would be no guarantee that the eggs would make it to adulthood, even with extra protection – and then it would be years and years before they would be ready to reproduce themselves.”

This was no new information. Quetas’Tir had nothing to challenge. He nodded his head. The elder hydrasi was too old to mate now, infertile. If he died, it was all over, yet the time portals – the time portals would save his race; he found himself looking to Cii’Tone, who was starring impassively ahead. The news was just going to get worse for it.

Harley nudged him.

“Looks like it’s going to get what it wants with you then.”

Quetas’Tir attempted to cast him the darkest look he could muster. Harley seemed quite taken aback.

“Sorry.”

He didn’t bother replying, switching his attention back to Rhea, who was talking quietly with Saul, the man who had made the comment about making a better job of Quetas'Tir's eye, or rather, listening, nodding her head occasionally, lips tightly pressed together. It was Saul’s wife who was addressing the gathered group, listing the names of the dead – the hydrasi deaths outnumbering the humans deaths. When she announced Maia’s death, Quetas’Tir once again searched for Cii’Tone, who had bowed its head and hidden its face before he had a chance to peek at the emotion on display.

“We’ve successfully repaired the damage to most of the buildings.” Harley chimed in once the list had ended; a voice so close it pulled him out of his zone and back to the meeting. It was not uncommon for Harley to speak in these meetings, for the blonde human loved the sound of his own voice, “had to re-enforce this one though, some of the plants need to be replaced.”

“Sounds like a waste of time.” It was a comment almost whispered, said with no direction, but it turned the head of Harley; Cii’Tone was still position with its head tilted towards the ground, almost oblivious to the clarity in which its own words had been heard by those stood close to it.

Harley tensed, obviously ready to bark, but Quetas’Tir silenced him with a hand on his chest.

“We have plenty of meat,” a different man continued the conversation, tugging at the bottom of the woollen jumper he wore. It was unravelling at the bottom, threads of dark maroon visibly hanging down, “technically, now can cut the plant portion of food we need with five less hydrasi to feed – not much, but we may still be able to eat as normal without replacing the plant.”

“We're still going to replace the plants, Greg,” Harley insisted, folding his arms.

“Go ahead, it'll still take time for them grow and produce anything,” Gregory tugged sharply at one of the dangling strands, freeing it from the jumper and winding it around one of his fingers. “I just think it would be wiser to use the fertilizer that would be used on those plants on the others to ensure what we have grows to a good standard.”

“That sounds nice.” Harley nodded, lips twitching, glancing to one side thoughtfully, no doubt thinking of food; Quetas'Tir did wonder how his friend could know what fine food tasted like when all they had was either decent or poor in quality.

“And then when the fertilizer has primed our plants, we can feast, in the honour of our hydrasi friends.” Saul added, “their meat will last in the core.” Of course that was what would be done, the bodies of the fallen were always eaten, yet the idea of a feast dedicated to eating hydrasi with fruits and vegetables improved with the extra fertilizer stolen from the plants that had died with them repulsed him – this was clearly not an opinion shared by many, the evidence being the buzz that enveloped the room.

“But if the other crops are lost, which is very possible, there is going to be significantly less. We will suffer.” Cii'Tone cut into the noise, gesturing with one hand, twisting his mouth into something that could have been a frown, “you want quantity if you want to live any longer than the very short lifespan ahead.”

“It's right.” Rhea sighed, propping her arms on the table and leaning into them.

“Not necessarily,” Gregory returned with a smug smile, “Anya?”

He summoned forwards a blonde haired woman with her hair messily pulled up into a half bun, a cluster of papers bundled against her chest. When she reached the table, she dropped them on the table, leaning across to spread them out.

“I have a few ideas of increasing the safety precautions in the area.” She coughed lightly, pushing a strand of fair hair from her face, “better than ideas. Working theories.” Saul and Rhea were leaning over the table too now, Rhea craning her head to read what had been marked down – some others were trying to shuffle closer. Quetas'Tir stayed where he was, becoming finally aware than his hand was still on Harley's chest. He removed it.

“What does this mean?” Saul was pointing a dirt stained, stubby finger at something Quetas'Tir could not see. It was not a crowded room, with only nine other people besides Harley and himself, but his positioning was not ideal when matched with his height.

“Adaptation of the hydrasi water shields and the icoscaite heat extractors,” Anya replied, putting her own finger next to Saul's and scanning her eyes over her notes.“It should work in preventing the damage fro-”

“It will not work.” Cii'Tone interrupted again. Quetas'Tir almost winced audibly.

“I'm sorry?” Anya seemed slightly startled, unable to rebuke the challenge, “how do you know that?”

“We're not being attacked. The universe is dying. We are dying,” Cii'Tone returned, voice rather dry and toneless. Anya's brow furrowed.

“We don't know that for certain. I agree that objects in universe are damaged, yes, but the universe itself cannot die. It is all there is. We have to protect ourselves until the energies of the universe rebalance themselves.”

“I'm not sure you know what you are saying.” Cii'Tone's voice remained mostly emotionless, coated lightly in something that gave its voice a harsh edge. “Or what energies you refer to.”

“Energy cannot be created or destroyed.” Anya said simply, left hand finding her mess of a bun and lightly tugging at it.

“Perhaps our galaxy is damaged, but that does not mean the whole universe is,” Saul agreed. “The universe will renew this area, in time – like skin cells are replaced constantly – as a healer, you should understand the basics of that.”

“And as a healer I know that once something is badly damaged, it should be severed from the rest of the body. If you wish to treat the universe as a highly evolved organism, it is more likely shed us than attempting to renew us.” Cii'Tone was quick to reply, something that could almost be irritation flashing in his eyes. Quetas'Tir could feel the tension in the room. It made him uncomfortable.

“You're telling us we're all going to die then?” Saul challenged, voice growing in anger and volume.

“Death is inevitable,” Cii'Tone confirmed.

“Why are you still here then?” The words left Quetas'Tir's mouth before he could even consider them – he could taste the venom of them, concentrated from years of listening to the same. The poison immediately took hold on the victim; Cii’Tone bristled, neck collar rising to the best of its ability trapped under its hair.

Cii'Tone blinked at him, stunned into complete silence.

“How dare you spit on hope!” Saul bellowed, his voice destructively large despite his small, stocky structure, “how dare you spit on hope when you yourself live! Do you live to taunt us? Is that how you get your kicks?” He was grasping onto the edge of the table, knuckles turning a deathly white.

Cii'Tone's mouth opened, but no reply came out.

“You want to rob us of the only thing we have left, do you? Carry on, take away our spirit and watch us rot in the ground. Then you win, you get to live alone as the sole survivor of the universe, I'm sure you'll enjoy that!”

“I-” Cii'Tone started, but was abruptly cut off.

“We all knew you were a strange hydrasi, but my, you are twisted!” Saul snapped, pulling his hands away from the table and slamming them down as fists. Anya visibly jumped.

“I live to serve. I am only preventing the disappointment of failure.” Cii'Tone had folded its arms across its chest, fingers twisting at the fin material that hung from its elbows.

“You don’t do anything but complain and eat the food that we could be eating,” Harley took his opportunity to jump in, still riled. “Saul can do the healing job. We don’t need you.”

Cii'Tone did not try to speak again, returning to blinking more frequently in silence.

“Quetas’Tir isn’t going to mate with you,” Harley finished triumphantly.

The rest of the room was oddly silent, the purple eyes moved to him, awaiting confirmation of what Harley had just said.

“I am not going to mate with you.” Quetas'Tir repeated – the words felt strangely hollow, robotic, yet there was still a foreign anger to his voice. “We don't need you.”

Cii'Tone still did not speak. Quetas'Tir became aware of a flicker of something in the other hydrasi's eyes, something others may not have been able to read in his position. He could not hold its gaze. He looked down. He saw Harley's boots as his friend moved to stand in front of him; then he heard Cii'Tone leave, leaving the door rocking gently back and forth on the hinges.

 

...

 

Sat by the pool, Cii'Tone traced his face in the water, finger lightly skimming the water and twisting his reflection into a blur of ripples. He looked hideous, in the place where his eye should have been, discoloured, twisted flesh highlighting his new disability. The wound even tore through one of his freckles, giving him a grand total of nine; nine was rel in the ancient hydrasi tongue. Nobody had rel freckles.

He had left the meeting soon after Cii'Tone's departure, claiming a need to soothe his remaining left eye, which was not a falsehood on his behalf; the damaged eye was stinging. Massaging water into the skin seemed to be easing the irritation.

Quetas'Tir had never had the opportunity to use his skills during the war, but they were embedded in him, and all the humans in this settlement could be read as easily as words. He could sense their hate, their anger, their fear, projected together into a monster. Each one of them had the potential to kill, to hurt, to damage. He had spent his whole life simply playing his role to ensure the danger to him on their behalf was always minimal.

Fear.

He had sensed it strongly on Cii'Tone when it had left.

He was not sure what Cii'Tone was afraid of. It spent a great portion of its time openly pointing out that the end was inevitable; he personally believed that what most of what Cii'Tone had said in the plantation was a product of grief – yet he knew that the other hydrasi had only spoken what it had truly believed – many a time had it told him that the universe was a rotting corpse. It sounded like it was ready to die.

But something kept it alive. He had often entertained the possibility that he was the reason, but it seemed a shallow and selfish thought; he would not degrade Cii'Tone any further.

He could hear movement. Lifting his finger from the water, he turned his head to the right to identify the owner of the sound, meeting something that most certainly had heat and was most certainly Harley. Harley's presence meant that the meeting was over. His friend stopped, offering a small wave to ensure he had been seen, which Quetas'Tir appreciated, and then continued forwards, perching on the partially crumbled rock at the edge of the water that Quetas'Tir had previously stored his clothes on.

“I've never seen you get angry like that.” Harley began. Quetas'Tir paused his action of dipping his finger back in the water.

“I regret that remark.” Hydrasi did not get angry. Hydrasi were the embodiment of peace. It would be have been more appropriate to ask the hydrasi, with the freckle total of ru – two, what it wished out of its life, what it desired to achieve in a world where there was no legacy to leave. But it was the same question, all the same.

“Why? We all want to know. If you hadn't asked it, someone else would've.” Harley shrugged, folding his arms over his knees.

“Cii'Tone is a hydrasi,” Quetas'Tir was looking down at his reflection again, the water projecting his face back at him, undisturbed. “Cii'Tone is the same as I am, the only one who is the same. ” There had only been a select few of them before, but being one of three – two, as he counted, as the elder hydrasi was cast out of the picture. The elder hydrasi could be dead too, for all he knew; nobody had seen them in some time. Old age killed as much as injury. Quetas'Tir did not know what the elder hydrasi had looked like in youth – now, it was nothing but peeling skin and bones.

His reached forwards, lightly tapping the water, creating a tiny distortion in the liquid. It was enough to destroy the image of his face, twisting it into broken patches of colour.

Vulnerable.

“I wouldn't call it that. A monster would be a more appropriate label.” Harley shook his head, finishing with a light chuckle.

Monster.

Monster had been the label Quetas'Tir had given to the triad of emotions named hate, anger and fear. A portion of that was filling his friend's words. By definition, Harley was part monster. And so was he.

“I'm afraid.” It was nothing more than a whisper.

“Of the monster? I'm not surprised,” Harley stretched out his legs, tapping his heels against the dust, “it wants to take away your hope. Don't let it succeed, because hope is that one thing that is stronger than fear, and I don’t care what that monster says, we're going to be just fine.”

“Hope.” Quetas'Tir repeated the word, tasting it on his tongue. His reformed reflection mimicked him.

“Yeah, hope. You and me, we're a team.” Harley slid off the rock, towering over him.

“So without hope, there is fear,” Quetas'Tir looked up at his friend for clarification, “so Cii'Tone could be afraid?”

“Of what?” Harley cast him a doubtful look.

He thought about it, moving his own eyes up from Harley to the dark black sky. It came to him then, as he gazed up at the eternal darkness, only lightly sprinkled with distant suns.

“Of not existing,” he gladly gave up the answer. He was immensely proud of himself, suddenly able to figure out an enigma that had plagued him for years. He knew without looking that Harley would have a puzzled look on his face. “It claims death is a gift that it will claim willingly when it comes for it, but it stays out of the way of harm purposefully, wanting us to do carry out no risks. Cii'Tone wants to die with the universe.”

“Eh?” Harley only gave a questionable noise as an answer. Quetas'Tir glanced briefly at his face, which whist being pointed up at the sky in search for Quetas'Tir's inspiration, was pained with confusion.

“I think that's beautiful.” He added.

“Well then you're clearly an idiot,” Harley gave up on the sky, lowering his head and shaking it firmly, grin returning, “Cii'Tone ain't no god.”

“That is not what I said,” Quetas'Tir shook his head, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch into something that could have been a smile. “Idiot, I'm clearly the god.”

“God of what? Thinking about complicated things?” Harley challenged, crouching down, tapping him lightly on the forehead.

“Mating.” He rolled the word over his tongue.

“Ah. It has been a while,” Harley folded his arms, a smirk taking hold. “Would you care to remind me of your powers?”

Quetas'Tir mirrored the smirk, leaning forwards and unfolding Harley's arms.

“It would be my pleasure.”

 

 

 


End file.
